Hours 'Til Dawn
by poma14
Summary: Bates' fate hangs in the balance.  Will the truth of Vera's death come out before it's too late?  Set during Christmas Special.  Obviously, A/B pairing.  But also some M/M and S/B incorporated.**FINAL CHAPTER IS UP:  What is Anna's decision?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my first attempt at a multiple chapter story—so please bear with me! This will mostly be an Anna/Bates pairing, but Mary/Matthew and Sybil/Branson will also be part of the story. Full disclosure, I have no real knowledge of the British penal system during this time period. But I figure if Sir Fellowes can take a lot of license with history, so can I.

As always, Downton Abbey and it's characters are property of Julian Fellowes and ITV.

**Hours 'Til Dawn**

**Chapter 1 **

December 31st , 1919, 4pm

Grantham House, London

Anna rubbed her eyes and looked into the mirror. The black circles that had ringed her eyes for the last month persisted. That wouldn't do. She wouldn't have him see her in this condition, not today of all days. She stepped to the bowl and pitcher that had been delivered to her room while she attempted a nap. She filled the bowl. Taking both hands she splashed herself with the cool water.

As water dripped down her face, she stepped back in front of the mirror surveying herself in her sleeping gown. In addition to the black circles, her face was gaunt and pale. She pinched her cheeks hoping to produce some color. Her hands fell to her side, then out of instinct, she raised then to cradle her bulging belly.

She felt a small kick followed by a fluttering. He was awake and dancing about. Her newly acquired mother's intuition told her the baby was a boy. John laughingly disputed her claim arguing that God would reward one angel with another. But Anna knew better. It was a boy. A boy that everyday would mirror John in looks and spirit. And that would be God's gift to her.

The mantle clock softly chimed 4 o'clock. She had two hours to ready herself and get to Wandsworth Prison. Anna calmly returned to the bowl and pitcher to wash the sleep from her body. She felt incredibly lazy taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon. She couldn't remember a time in her life when such a luxury was allowed. But Lady Mary had been adamant that she rest. There would be no chores for her to do at Grantham House during her stay. At first, Anna was uncomfortable staying in a guest room instead of the servant quarters, but Mrs. Gordon, the housekeeper, warmly rebuked her protests. Both Lord Grantham and Lady Mary had insisted on the accommodations. After having few visitors during the war years, Mrs. Gordon was exceedingly pleased to have a guest to dote on.

Opening up a wardrobe five times the size of hers at Downton, Anna pulled out a dress suit of deep blue, almost purple hue. Her wedding dress. She wanted to look her best today. She wanted to be beautiful. Anna had never been one to dwell on her looks. She thought herself pretty enough, perhaps not as striking as a Lady Mary or unique as Lady Sybil, but comely enough still. But on their wedding day, she had been beautiful. She felt it in her heart and seen it in his eyes. She wanted to experience that thrill again.

After slipping on her undergarments, she stepped into the skirt. It hadn't been easy, but she had managed to let out the waist to epic proportions to accommodate her nine month pregnant body. The shirt barely reached her expanded waistline, but it wouldn't be noticeable after putting on the dress jacket with its newly set buttons.

Once dressed, Anna sat down at the dressing table to fix her hair. She started to pull it back and twist it into a bun, then her hands stilled. In that one night they shared, the one night that would have to last her a lifetime, John's hands had been drawn to her hair. Anna closed her eyes and she could almost feel his fingers combing through her long tresses, massaging her scalp. No, propriety be damned. For John, she would wear her hair down. She brushed and brushed until her hair gleamed. She then simply pinned back the sides.

Anna crossed back over to the wardrobe and pulled out her shoes. She took them over to the bed where she could sit and easily bring her feet up. Anna was amazed how difficult even the simplest tasks were when you were pregnant. She fought to get her swollen feet into now ill-fitting shoes. She rested for a moment after accomplishing the task. Her feet weren't the only part of the body swollen. Her fingers were fat and bore a remarkable resemblance to breakfast sausages. She reached with her opposite hand to touch her simple wedding band. She used to be able to turn it, but now it had a stranglehold on her ring finger, which was fine with her. She would never take it off.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could do this. She would be there for John. That's all that mattered. She slid off the bed and returned to the wardrobe to fetch her hat.

She stood in front of the mirror again adjusting her hat. She practiced a smile for him. She knew it didn't reach her eyes, and he would recognize that, but she hoped it would bring him some solace. She was ready to go, but her feet remained locked in place. She just continued to stare at her reflection. A kick from the baby jarred her senses. She slightly shook her head, straightened her skirt and brushed some lint off her jacket. Anna took one more look at herself. Her color had returned and with her hair down she looked younger than her thirty two years. Perhaps not as beautiful as their wedding day, but reasonably attractive for being the size of an elephant. Even with her new figure she wanted to look her absolute best. It wasn't everyday you saw your husband for the last time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ** I've never written Mary POV before. To be honest, I've always been ambivalent at best towards her character, so it was a challenge to step into her shoes. But I hope I was able to do her some justice. I found myself liking her more, the more that I wrote.

A/B shippers—Hang in there. Next chapter, Anna and John, I promise!

As always, reviews and comments are much appreciated.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

December 31st, 1919

5:45pm

Downton Abbey

"Well, it's a good thing you decided not to go back to Haxby," Edith remarked. "They say the roads are a sheet of ice."

Mary looked over at her sister and saw genuine concern upon her face. Sometimes she still had trouble fathoming Edith actually cared about her well-being. So much of their youth had been spent bickering and backstabbing. She had to admit it was oddly comforting to have a functional relationship with her sister. Yet given the dismal direction her life had taken over the past year, there were times when she longed for a good row with Edith.

The new housemaid, Jenny, fixed Mary's hair up off her shoulders. "I just couldn't leave until Father was up and about. Is Dr. Clarkston still with him?"

"I peeked in on my way down here. He looked as if he had finished his examination and talking with Mama and Papa. Sybil was there too. It's quite fortunate really. The ward she worked most recently deals with heart attack and stroke patients.

"A venerable expert," Mary scoffed. But truth be told, she was entirely jealous. Sybil was living a complete life. True, she wasn't too many steps away from the poorhouse, but she had a place to go to, to be at each day and a husband to come home to at night. And this husband loved her. Despite such a life being foreign to Mary, she could not prevent a sense of longing for all that Sybil had from creeping into her chest.

As if summoned by their words, Sybil entered Mary's room. "Good news. Papa's doing much better. Dr. Clarkston says he can get out of bed and be up for short periods of time by the end of the week. He was truly most fortunate. It was only a mild attack."

Their father's sudden heart attack had taken the whole household by surprise. On the day after Christmas, he began to complain of chest pains and an odd tingling throughout his arms and legs. Thank God, Sybil knew to give him aspirin and by the time Dr. Clarkston arrived, he had stabilized.

"But he keeps asking about the outcome of Bates' trial," Sybil continued sitting down on Mary' s bed. "Mama is afraid to tell him. That he will become upset and have another attack. Though I don't know how much longer we can keep the truth from him. He knew the verdict was to come down after Boxing Day. He's going to find out eventually. "

"It will be hard on Papa. He's always been so fond of Bates," Edith lamented. "The whole mess is so sad."

"Tom doesn't believe Bates could have done such a thing," asserted Sybil.

Mary cracked a half smile at the prominence Sybil gave her husband's opinions. So much for the liberated woman keeping her own opinions, though Sybil's pride in her husband was commendable. Mary had to admit she had never been compelled to repeat any of Richard's sentiments with such admiration.

"I suppose he knows him better than us. Papa also maintains his innocence, as does Mrs. Hughes and Carson." Edith paused. "It's frightening to think that someone could be hung for a crime they didn't commit."

Unlike most at Downton, Mary had her doubts about Bates' innocence. She knew her father trusted Bates implicitly, the staff respected him unreservedly, and Anna loved him unconditionally. She herself found him to be keenly intelligent; a loyal and capable servant, not at all the murderous type. Yet. . . despite having only limited and formal contact with Bates, Mary felt a kinship with him that the others would never share, not even Anna. For she understood what it was like to be married to someone you loathed. No, if being married to Vera Bates was anything like being married to Richard Carlisle, she had no trouble seeing how Bates could be guilty of murder.

Sybil shook her head. "And such a barbaric way to die. You'd think after years of war and killing, our government might find more humane ways of punishment."

"Poor Anna. I can't begin to imagine the agony she's going through." Mary remembered so vividly the joy upon her face when she secretly wed Bates and now less than a year later she would be a widow.

"And to be all alone with a baby. It's so heartbreaking." Sybil sighed.

Mary looked at her sisters in the mirror as Jenny clasped her necklace. "On the other hand, she will always have the child as a way to remember him by, a living memento of sorts."

Edith looked at Mary. "At least you secured a job for her with Cousin Lydia. I couldn't imagine Anna would want to return to Downton after all this."

Despite hoping for the best, Anna still had feared the worst. Ever the pragmatist, Anna had discussed the possibility of Bates' execution with Mary. Anna needed to know that she could provide for herself and her baby if she was to be left alone. So when Mary found out her American cousin Lydia was in need of a new governess, she put in a good word for Anna. Well, more than a good word, she basically bowled over her poor cousin.

"I just wish circumstances were different. " Mary wished for both her and Anna.

Their mother poked her head in. "Matthew and Isobel braved the weather and are downstairs if you'd care to join them now."

"How's Father fairing?" Edith wanted to know as she crossed the room.

"Much better. Grumbling to no end about not being able to get out of bed. But I take that as a good sign." Cora replied leading Edith out.

Sybil hopped off the bed. "Are you coming?"

Mary gave her a forced smile. "In a minute. You go ahead. I'll be right down."

As Sybil left, Jenny tidied up her dresser. "Will you be needing anything else, My Lady?"

"No. Thank you, Jenny."

Alone, Mary took a deep breath. Matthew was here. She had scarcely talked with him in the nine months since Lavinia's death. They had danced at the Downton Christmas formal a few weeks ago, but he had shunned her company ever since. Even though, she knew he had been visiting her father daily since his attack, she never did once see him. Oh, it was moments like this that she missed Anna's presence immensely. She needed someone to hear her out, to be her confidante.

Mary shook her head and chided herself. Anna was hours away from her husband dying and Mary was upset that she wasn't here to provide her moral support. God, what was wrong with her? Was she really that callous?

"Excuse me, Ma'am."

In the open doorway, Aunt Rosamond's lady maid, Marigold, shyly hovered.

"Yes, what is it?"

Marigold took a step inside the room. Her nervous fingers played with her white apron. She looked up quickly at Mary and then back down. She then took two deep breaths.

With her patience running low, Mary let out an exasperated sigh and tried again, "Yes?"

Marigold looked up and took a few steps and to stand directly in front of Mary. "Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am, but I overheard you and your sisters talkin' about the Bates' trial."

A small thread of annoyance ran through Mary. Who was this maid to eavesdrop on her conversation? Was there no such thing as privacy anymore?

Then it hit her and she remembered who Marigold was. She was the friend Vera Bates had written to right before her death. Marigold had testified in court that Vera was afraid for life. She had been a key witness for the prosecution.

Mary raised an eyebrow and looked up at Marigold. "I don't take well to being snooped on. What is said between my family is private, not for the public consumption. I'm sorry if our conversation upset you. I know you were good friends with the late Mrs. Bates, but . . ."

"It's just that, My Lady," Marigold interrupted. "I wasn't. That is, good friends with Mrs. Bates. I scarcely knew her."

"What?" Mary shook her head to comprehend what she was hearing. "But she wrote to you. You testified you were close friends. I don't understand."

"Ohh, I don't know where to begin," Marigold looked around anxiously and began to finger her apron again.

Mary took pity on the young woman in front of her. Obviously there was much more to this story. "Well, the beginning is always a good place to start. Why don't you have a seat."

Marigold took a seat on the edge of a dressing chair next to where Mary was sitting. "It all started almost two years ago." She took another nervous look at Mary and continued. "You see, that's when I first met Sir Richard. He came for dinner. . ."

Words continued to come out of Marigold's mouth, but Mary's mind was still playing catch up. "Wait a minute. " Mary put a hand out in front of Marigold. "Please stop. You said Sir Richard. You mean, Sir Richard, my husband, Sir Richard Carlisle."

Marigold flushed. "Yes, your husband. Only at the time, he wasn't your husband. To be honest, I wasn't fully aware of what your relationship was with him at the time."

Mary shook her head again. None of this was making sense. Bates' wife. Rosamond's maid. Richard. She wasn't sure where this was headed, but she was developing a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Go on, please."

"Sir Richard took a shine to me. He was always kind and sayin' nice things to me. He made me feel special." Marigold paused, unsure how to continue. "Well, one thing led to another and we began seeing each other romantically, if you know what I mean."

"You were having an affair." Mary deduced.

"You've got to understand, once you get to be a certain age as a maid, there's not a lot of hope of ever getting married." Mary briefly thought of Anna. She had been the exception. She had found love and marriage at an older age and look where it had gotten her.

"Being with him allowed me to pretend I could have that life. Oh, I knew it wasn't real. But a girl likes to dream."

Mary took a long look at Marigold. She was definitely Richard's type. Pretty, young, blonde. It wasn't even a month into their marriage that Mary discovered that Richard was keeping a mistress, or mistresses to be more exact. It was funny, but when she made the discovery of his secret affairs, she felt nothing. She knew she should be hurt or anger, but all she felt was relief. The more Richard found pleasure outside their marriage, the more he left her alone.

"But once he announced his engagement to you. I avoided seeing him. It's one thing to dally with a single man, but an engaged or married man is a different matter. I do have standards, My Lady." Marigold stressed.

Mary wasn't one to argue. "All right. So you stopped seeing Richard. Now how is he connected to Mrs. Bates?"

"Well, you see my mum was bad off. She had the cancer. She could hardly care for herself and I'm all she had. My brothers, they're a sorry lot. So, it was all up to me to pay for all her doctoring. I really wanted to move her to a hospital where she'd really be takin' care of good, but I just couldn't afford it."

Marigold smiled dubiously. "Then Sir Richard came along and seemed to be the answer to all my problems. I had mentioned in the past to him how upset I was about my mum's health. To be honest, I was playacting a bit. I had hoped he might take pity on me and help, what with all his money. But he never seemed interested until a little over a year ago. Like I said, I hadn't seen him since he announced your engagement."

Stopping to take another deep breathe, Marigold continued on. "He said he had a proposition for me. He would pay all the expenses for my mother to stay at first rate hospital in Chelsea. He promised she could live there for her whole life if I wished. You got to understand, this was the answer to all my prayers. All I had to do in return was to pretend I received a letter from Mrs. Bates, take it to the police and be willing to testify to what it said in court."

Mary closed her eyes. She knew now without hearing anymore that John Bates was an innocent man. She knew the lengths Richard would go to get what he wanted. She was not sure why, but from what Marigold was telling her, Richard had wanted Vera Bates dead.

"Then you never were friends with Mrs. Bates?"

"No. I met her once or twice in passing when Lady Rosamond stayed with the Flintshires, but I don't know if I could've recognized her if I passed her on the street."

Mary's anger began to rise. "So, you lied to the authorities. You lied in court. Don't you know an innocent man is scheduled to hang because of your testimony?"

Marigold began to weep. "I know, I know. I feel horrible. It was wrong. I did have second thoughts about testifying. You see, my mum passed away in November. Sir Richard must have been worried that I might come clean now that she had died. He tracked me done before the trial and told me that if I changed my testimony that I could be held in contempt of court and go to jail. He also said he would make sure that I would lose my job with Lady Rosamond. And if I lost my job, I don't know what I would've done.

Mary could easily see Richard cornering and threatening Marigold. She had seen it enough with their household staff during their six months of marriage.

"So, why come out with it now?" Mary wanted to know.

Marigold composed herself. "Right before my mum passed away, she told me that she was so proud to have such a fine daughter. But it was all a lie. I'm not at all good and decent. A man is going to die because of me. And I can't stop thinking of his poor wife being with child. I want to make it right. Is it too late, My Lady? Say there's still time."

Reaching out to briefly comfort, Mary took Marigold's hands in hers. "I don't know. Bates is to hang at dawn. But it's about time I get some answers."

Marigold drew her hands away obviously worried. "You're going to confront Sir Richard?"

"Yes. Don't worry. You, nor your job, are in danger." Mary asserted getting up from her seat. On second thought, she turned back to Marigold, "Go to your room and stay there. Don't come downstairs tonight."

"Thank you, My Lady. I'm glad to get this weight off my chest."

Mary briefly nodded and headed out the door. And for the first time in a long while, she had purpose in her stride.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks for all the kind reviews! Your feedback is super helpful.

Heading back to prison with this chapter. Just wanted to remind folks, I am clueless to British penal system! So if it seems historically inaccurate, it probably is-lol!

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

December 31st, 1919 6:07pm

Wandsworth Prison

Warden George Cox lived in a world dictated by cold, hard facts. He believed in what he could see and hear. What he could piece together with his own eyes and ears.

This had been true for him when he served in the army. Enemy positions could only be ascertained with dependable intelligence. Likewise, it had also been the case during his nearly three decades as a detective with the London Police. Unlike many of his colleagues whose investigations were spurred by gut feelings and hunches, Cox relied singularly on concrete evidence to solve cases.

And he most certainly trusted what he saw with his eyes at Wandsworth Prison. Every day, as he walked its corridors, Cox came face to face with despicable and vile men, the dregs of society. With their day in court behind them, Lady Justice had sent them to him. When he surveyed his inmates, he saw guilty men. For Cox, there were no doubts. That was until John Bates arrived.

As Cox passed the individual cells set aside for the most violent offenders, the murderers and rapists, he once again thought how much Bates irked him. Not because he was a troublemaker or problem prisoner. Quite the opposite. If ever there was a model prisoner, it was Bates. He knew when to shut up, hold his own and mind his own business. Despite being lame and a possible target of harassment, the other prisoners generally left him alone. Being thought malevolent enough to poison your wife intimidated the regular prison population of pick pockets, burglars and con artists. Bates was seen as something of an enigma by his fellow inmates.

But that's not what Cox saw. Despite being found guilty under a mountain of evidence, Cox saw an innocent man in Cell #24. And that confounded him to no end.

Perhaps it was the unapologetic way Bates asserted his innocence. He looked you in the eye. He didn't back down. He had not murdered his wife and he was willing to fight it. Sure, most men at Wandsworth, said at one time or another, they were innocent. It was a long running joke among the inmates that there wasn't a guilty soul there. But Cox had never seen a man at maintain his innocence in the way Bates did. Day after day, he never wavered or changed his story.

Or maybe it was his wife. With her pretty features and delicate figure (well, perhaps not so delicate anymore), you would think she would be a pushover. But that woman had a backbone of steel and steadfast spirit that could not be broken. In the nearly nine months Bates had been at Wandsworth, she never missed a single weekly visitation. He discovered that every Saturday she got up before dawn to catch the 6am train to arrive in London by 9am for the one hour weekly prison wide visitation. She was always waiting when the prison gates opened regardless of the weather. She stood with the hot summer sun beating down on her, in the pouring rain and under the falling snow. And like her husband, she made no bones about his innocence to anyone that would listen. Her tenacity reminded him of a mother bear protecting her cub. Cox couldn't help it. He liked Anna Bates.

As he neared cell #24, Cox shook his head. He must be growing soft in his later years. His late wife, Ellie, always claimed there was a heart deep down inside of him. But it was not his place to have doubts about Bates' innocence or guilt. Hell, he shouldn't even care what happens to Bates or his wife in the first place. He just needed to do his job as warden and his job meant he had to get Bates to the gallows in approximately fourteen hours.

Yet a small voice whispered . . . _this isn't right_. But George Cox ignored it. He had to. Because he lived in a world ruled by your head, not gut instincts.

Cox stopped in front of Bates' cell. At first, he thought he was reading. Bates always seemed to have a book in his hands. But upon further inspection, he was simply sitting there with an open book in his lap, but his eyes were closed.

"Bates, it's time to go. Your wife is here."

His eyes opened. "Yes, right." Bates unconscientiously looked around for his bookmark, a photo carte of his wife. Then as he began to put it in his book, the realization hit that he would never be coming back to this cell. He briefly looked at the photo and slipped it into his pants pocket.

As they made their way to the prisoner visitation room, Bates turned to Cox, "Sir, I must thank you. I know this isn't customary to allow prisoners such privileges, even as a last request."

Cox wasn't entirely sure himself what was customary with executions. In his five years as Wandsworth warden, he had presided over just six hangings. In all those instances, the offenders had no family to speak off, no one that cared whether or not they lived or died. But Bates did. Within days of his conviction, Mrs. Bates asked to speak with him. He had never seen her in such a state. Instead of the calm persona he was accustomed to during her weekly visits, she was quite desperate. Since current law set executions to be at dawn of the first day of the month following conviction, she pleaded with him to let her spend the hours leading up to sunrise with her husband. She didn't care if she had to sit on a hard chair in the prisoner visitation room for hours with Bates handcuffed across from her, just as long as she could be with him.

"Well, your wife can be quite a force of nature."

Bates chuckled and grinned. Cox had never seen him do either outside the company of such wife.

"That she is. But I do sincerely appreciate it just the same."

The door to the prisoner visitation room was open. The minute Mrs. Bates saw her husband, she pushed herself up from her seat, not an easy task for her these days. Bates ambled in, his limp more pronounced without the use of a cane. He met her halfway across the room. He buried his hands in her long flowing hair, dragging her head roughly to his chest. At the same time, she wrapped her arms tight around his chest, almost as if it was a contest to see who could embrace each other harder. They stood for several long seconds in this hold before he pulled back and slowly bent to kiss her. Cox uncomfortable with the scene before him looked around the visitation room. It was a rather large windowless room with a dozen tables and chairs. Hard chairs he noted. What a dreary room to spend hours in, especially your last hours.

Before he could think twice, Cox coughed to get their attention. "I've been thinking. Given Mrs. Bates'. . ." He flushed a little before continuing. ". . . condition, you might be more comfortable spending the evening in my office."

Bates and his wife looked at each other in surprise before turning questioning looks to Cox. "You'll be much more at ease. There's a settee and an armchair and a coffee table."

Mrs. Bates was first to speak, "Well, lead the way, Mr. Cox."

Upon arriving in his office, Cox quickly cleared the few papers that were on top of his meticulously clean desk and locked the drawers. He turned back to the couple. "Same rules apply in here as in the visitation room. Two guards will be posted outside the door for the entire evening. So don't even think of trying anything." Not that he actually believed they would, but he had to say it just the same. "If you have to use the lavatory, let the guards know and one of them will escort you. That's about all. I'll be back at dawn."

He looked at the couple as they surveyed their quarters for the evening.

"Thank you again, Sir," Bates expressed his gratitude.

Mrs. Bates walked up to him, leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his weathered check. "Yes, thank you. You are a good man, Mr. Cox."

Feeling himself blush, Cox averted his face and gruffly said good night before exiting the room and pulling the door shut behind him. He may not be able to stop Bates from going to the gallows, but he did make it so he could have one last evening with his wife, to be able to say a proper goodbye. Maybe Ellie was right. Maybe George Cox did have a heart after all.

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><p>As the door softly clicked shut behind Warden Cox, John sat down on one end of the settee. Taking his cue, Anna sat down on the other end.<p>

246 days. 246 long days since John had last been alone with his wife. And now that they were sitting only feet apart with no one looking over their shoulders, John felt ridiculously nervous. Not sure what to do or say.

The one thing that he didn't want to do was make their last hours more difficult for Anna then they already were going to be. No regrets, no recriminations, no apologies. He was not going to dwell on what could have been. He was done with that. He knew her mourning would be profound. There was no need for it to start prematurely.

John just wanted to be with his wife, to share the same space. To talk freely with her and hold her close. And above all, he wanted to make her smile. A real smile. Not one that was in pity or solace. But one that reached her eyes.

His long days in prison had afforded John much time to reevaluate his life. But truth be told, he had already begun to view his life differently from the moment he spoke his marriage vows. Though he knew it sounded somewhat cliché, John's whole world changed the moment he slipped that ring on Anna's finger and plighted his troth.

He had loved Anna from the start. But John had always been his own worst enemy. He was quite adept at conspiring against himself. Even when she declared her love for him, he scarcely allowed himself to believe it. He simply wasn't worthy of it. He didn't consider it possible for someone like him to give someone as perfect as her what she needed or deserved. Just loving each other wasn't enough. He had been a failure most of his life and he would most certainly fail her eventually. Though he would never admit it, except perhaps in the deep recesses of his subconscious, his marriage to Vera had been a convenient obstacle to their happiness. As much as John longed and professed for a proper life with Anna, he was also frightened to death that he would ultimately be the ruin of her.

It wasn't until Anna put her foot down and demanded he hike up to Ripon for a marriage license that John began to see the errors in his thinking. As he filled out the forms to become man and wife, he had an epiphany of sorts. In two days time they were going to be married. John expected his usual fear for the future to run down his spine and his hands to get sweaty. But instead all he felt was a lightness, all his excuses, his fears were lifted. For better or worse, Anna May Smith was going to become his wife. It was want she wanted, no demanded. And he could not deny her wish.

And when they exchanged vows, he was reminded of the tent revivals that sometimes traveled around the counties in the summer. But instead of having his sins washed away by accepting the Lord, his soul was cleansed by finally realizing that their love for one another was enough. Enough to overcome his past mistakes and failures. Enough to triumph over his fears and worries for the future. Enough to see them through whatever additional barriers may pop up to block their path. Enough to make John a new man, a truly happy man for the first time in his adult life.

During their short time as man and wife before his arrest, John reveled in his new life. He felt like a free man. No, Vera hadn't been the only one keeping him in chains. His only regret was that he had not taken steps earlier to share his life fully with Anna. He had always been so hesitant; always wanting to do what was right and proper by Anna. Why didn't he listen to her? They could have run away, divorce or not, to someplace . . .America perhaps, then they wouldn't be in their current predicament.

But as he sat next to his wife, he reminded himself now was not the time for regrets. He needed to make sure she knew what she meant to him and how she had given his life meaning, significance.

He turned and found her already assessing him. "Anna. . ."

Before he could finish, she interrupted, "No, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you say you're sorry. I don't want to hear you say it would have been better if I had never met you. I don't want to hear you say you ruined my life. I don't want to hear any of it. Because it would all be untrue and just make me spitting mad."

John couldn't help but smile at the state she was working herself into.

"Anna. . ." he tried again.

She continued, "And no tears tonight. None. I don't want to ruin the here and now, by crying over all the tomorrows to come. And I mean it John Bates, no apologies. I don't want to hear them. And. . ."

This time he grabbed her hands sharply to cease her monologue. His grip then loosened and his fingers began to caress hers. God, she was beautiful especially with her hair down cascading over her shoulders. His hands drifted up of their own accord to tangle in her hair. His mind became a little muddled as shifted closer to her on the settee.

He said the first thing that came to his mind. "You wore you hair down. It's gorgeous. You're gorgeous."

She looked surprised by the words, still clearly expecting him to begin to dwell on regrets and past sins.

He cleared his throat. He had more to say. "Anna, I could never be sorry for loving you. And I blessed to have your love in return. You see, the love you have for me and I for you. . ." He began to fumble a bit. "Our love, I suppose, is what has made me the man I am today. "

John's hands came back down to Anna's. "I came to Downton a broken and tired old man. But our love healed me, made me whole. Hell, made me younger. And most definitely made me a happy man."

He could see Anna's eyes begin to water. "If I had to choose between the eight wonderful years you and I shared, even with all the heartache, or having never met you but be able to live a long life. I would always choose you, Anna. Without love, a long life would be empty and pointless. It took me awhile to figure that out. "

The first teardrop slid down Anna's cheek. "I only hope that I was able to give you even a fraction of the happiness you gave me. I cherish the thought that I have. "

"Oh John," Anna squeezed his hands. "I would never change a bit of our story if it meant I never met you. "

They both smiled at each other, both relieved to have had their say. "I thought you said no tears," John pointed out.

"Right you are." Anna looking slightly chagrined whipped her tears away with the back of her hand and turned to the reach down to a rather large bag that was sitting on the floor next to her.

She proceeded to remove several small pans of food laying them on the coffee table in front of them.

"Good God, women! What is all that?"

Anna smiled and chuckled at John's exclamation. "Well, Mrs. Gordon has a lot time on her hands and when I asked her to make a meal for us tonight; she went about making a feast. We have shepherd's pie in here. Part of a roast in this one. Oh, look what's in here, a pudding. "

As Anna explored all the various containers laid out in front of them. John just sat back and basked in his success. He had just seen a real smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

December 31st, 1919

6:24pm

Downton Abbey

As Mary descended the long staircase, she acutely felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her heart sped up its cadence; her breathing quickened and became uneven. With each step her anger increased and her resolve strengthened.

She was reminded of a time years ago when her family had visited some distant cousins. As always when aristocratic families got together, the governess ushered the children out of the adults' sight. In this instance, the governess happened to be very lax and the four boys who lived there ruled the roost and were absolute hellions. She and her sisters stood by in horror at the destruction they wreaked. The oldest who matched Mary's ten years was the ringleader. He conspired with his brothers to steal her sisters' dolls. Mary could still remember poor little Sybil crying her eyes out because her porcelain doll, Charlotte, was being held for ransom. The boys had gone too far. Nobody treated her sisters that way (except maybe for Mary herself) and got away with it. She sought out the oldest boy and with a left hook to his chin retrieved their dolls. Mary hated bullies back then and she still hated them now. And Sir Richard Carlisle was most certainly a bully. She would love to give him a good left hook. Only this time, the stakes were much higher, instead of dolls, a man's life was in question.

As she strode into the parlor, she caught Carson's eye as he stood by the door. He smiled a little half smile just for her. She returned it. It was good to know she had allies. No matter what happened over the course of the next few minutes, there were people in this house she could count on to support her.

Richard appeared to be making small talk with Matthew who looked like he would rather be anywhere else. As she walked up to them, Matthew saw her first. He smiled before he could stop himself. After a mere second it was gone, replaced by a wall of politeness. It was as if his conscious mind caught up with his instincts and killed the smile. Oh, why did it have to be this way?

As she made her way to Richard's side, she banished all thoughts of Matthew. She had more pressing concerns than how she had mucked up her one chance at happiness. She could dwell on that matter later in the privacy of her bedroom with no spectators and where tears could spill freely.

"Excuse me," Mary spared a polite smile and glance at Matthew before turning to her husband. "Richard, I need to speak with you."

"In a minute dear, I was just telling Matthew here about my plans to buy the New York Daily News and expand into the American market. "

"No, Richard. I need to speak with you now."

"Well, go ahead."

"No, Richard," she repeated. "In private. Now."

"Well, I don't think Matthew would mind. We're all family after all." Richard grinned an all too satisfied grin.

All right. If that's the way he wanted it. "Fine. You're right. I am sure Matthew would be interested in the fact that you had Vera Bates murdered in cold blood. Would you like me to go on? Or should we go talk in private?

To his credit, Richard simply turned to Matthew, "If you will excuse us." Then he proceeded to grasp Mary's upper arm and propel her out of the parlor. His fingers dug into her arm with a cruelty that belied his seemingly composed demeanor.

They walked in silence down the hall to the library. Once inside Richard calmly turned to Mary. "So I murdered Vera Bates?"

Mary was taken aback by his candor. "Yes, I think you did. Or at least are somehow responsible. Marigold, Rosamond's lady maid, just came to me this evening and told me how you paid for her mother's care in exchange for testifying Vera Bates wrote her that damning letter."

"Oh, Rosamond," Richard lamented. "I knew she would cave sooner or later. Thank God, it was after the trial."

Mary incredulously stared at her husband. She had expected him to deny all ties to the crime. Or perhaps feign ignorance. Or maybe be so thoroughly livid that he would scream and yell at the mere suggestion of his involvement. But she hadn't expected a flippant admission of guilt.

"So, let me get this straight. You're acknowledging you were involved in Vera's murder? Please Richard, tell me."

Richard, who was now standing across the room by the fireplace, leisurely leaned on the mantle. "So, you want to know the whole story? You want to know how Vera Bates met her unfortunate end? "

"Of course, I do. I have to know," Mary pleaded.

Leaving his post at the fireplace, Richard stopped in front of Mary and brought his hand up to run a finger lightly down her cheek. "I can start by telling you I did everything for you."

Mary recoiled from both his touch and his words. "I don't know what you mean."

"Well, if you so remember, back around the time of our engagement, you asked me to buy Vera Bates' lovely story of the Turkish diplomat dying in your bed. I did so and had her sign a contract giving me sole rights to the story."

"Yes, I recall all of this, Richard. You said we shouldn't have any more trouble from her quarter."

"It seems I underestimated the determination of the late Mrs. Bates. She discovered a loophole in the contract she signed. She could pass her story along to another publication if she did so anonymously and through a third party. She couldn't receive any payment for it, but legally she wouldn't be in violation of the contract."

Mary head began to throb. It all came back to the Pamuk affair. When would this one mistake stop haunting her?

"She was blackmailing you?"

"Yes. It appeared she had already taken her poor fool husband for everything he was worth. She was looking for security to the tune of 100 pounds a month. At first, I thought she was bluffing. I threw her out of my office and sent her a rather menacing cease and desist letter. Usually. . ." Richard paused with a wicked self-deprecating smile, ". . . my letters put an end to such matters."

Mary could only imagine how many times Richard had put the screws on business associates, officials, friends. "But it didn't work with Vera?"

"No, not at all. She kept trying to see me at my office and when that didn't work she sent letters daily threatening that she would leak the story by the end of the month if I didn't start paying her. I must admit she had a lot of gumption. At first, I ignored her, but. . ." Richard trailed off.

"What?" Mary couldn't help herself.

"Usually, I don't take such threats seriously, but there was something about her. She was off somehow, not quite all there. She was not someone I could do legitimate dealing with." Richard moved a step closer to Mary. "And I wasn't going to have some batty women ruin all that we had."

Mary took a step back. "So you had her murdered?"

Richard took another step forward, invading Mary's space. "Not murdered. I was simply protecting my investment."

Her stomach rolled at Richard viewing her as a commodity not unlike his newspapers. She supposed there would be some women who would feel grateful to a man protecting her honor. All Mary wanted to do was throw up. Mary took another step backward.

"How did you do it? Did you poison her yourself?"

Richard sniggered softly. "Of course not, I have people to do that."

Mary didn't know what was more frightening. That fact that he had "people" to commit such a heinous crime or that it sounded like it wasn't the first time such he orchestrated such a crime.

Richard continued, "I was actually most fortunate. In the midst of Vera's blackmailing threats, I had the opportunity to ride to the train station with none other than her estranged husband. Though not a big conversationalist, I was able to ascertain from him that he was traveling to London to see Vera. It seemed she had put another wrench in his divorce plans. I could see that there was a fury boiling in him just below the surface. And I thought this is my chance, if I can have Vera taken care of around the same time Bates was in London, all suspicion will naturally fall on him."

"Which it did, "Mary concluded.

"Not at first. My people were successful with poisoning her tea box, but once the investigation began evidence started pointing back in my direction. It seemed Vera wasn't as delusional as I had originally thought. She had kept my threatening letter in a file right on her desk. She also religiously kept a diary. The two detectives investigating the case soon came by to ask questions."

Mary shook her head trying to digest the influx of new information. She had known none of this. The police had actually questioned him. Had Richard come close to being arrested?

Realization hit Mary square in head. "Of course, you needed evidence to point in Bates' direction. So you concocted the letter to Marigold."

"Always so smart," Richard complimented her, taking a step closer. This time when Mary stepped back the back of her knees hit the seat of a winged back armchair. "With the introduction of the letter and also the help of some carefully placed payments, the initial detectives on the case were replaced and the investigation began to focus on Bates. Then with some additional offerings, I was able to secure a conviction and an appropriate sentence. "

"You bribed the police? A judge?" Mary sputtered. "An innocent man is to hang tomorrow morning because of you. Because of your 'appropriate sentence.' My God, how could you? "

Richard leaned closer to Mary, now only mere inches separated them. Mary's back bowed and her hands grasped the edges of the armchair to keep herself both from toppling over and from having any physical contact with her husband.

"I did it all for you, Mary. I love you and I wasn't about to see your name dragged through the mud."

"You don't love me." Mary spat at him. "You love my name, my position, my family's place in society, but you've never loved me."

"Oh, but that's where your wrong Mary." Richard brought his hand up to her chin to steady her face. "I love you tremendously. We are very much alike. We both see the world as ours to manipulate, to govern. We are our own masters."

That might have been true when Mary first met Richard. Truth be told, she had admired his ruthlessness, his shrewd business acuity. But Mary was a different woman now. The war had changed her. Losing Matthew for a second time had changed her. And most definitely being trapped in a hapless marriage had changed her.

"No, we're not at all alike. I can't stand by silently after all that you've told me." Mary tried to push past Richard.

"Oh yes you will or Hell will reign down upon you and your family." This time when Richard took a step forward and he bodily bumped Mary causing her to tumble back into the armchair.

"Step away from her." Mary heart hitched when she saw Matthew standing just inside the library doorway.

When Richard failed to move from his looming position, Matthew stepped fully into the room and in a voice that dripped of years of unsaid hatred, he repeated, "I said step away from her."

Richard slowly backed away from the chair and Mary. "Well, if isn't Lancelot here to save his Guinevere. I suppose that makes me King Arthur."

Matthew offered a hand to Mary. She took it. She needed to face Richard standing up. She also needed to feel Matthew's touch.

Richard continued on, "Oh, I'm not blind. I know there is this something more between you then just being mere cousins."

Mary started to refute him, but changed her mind. She would not let the conversation be turned upon her and Matthew. "I will say it again; I won't stand by in silence. Either you go to authorities or I will be forced to."

Still maintaining a frighteningly calm demeanor, Richard shrugged, "No you won't."

Mary's ire rose. "I most certainly will. I will not have poor Bates hung and Anna a widow for some crime you perpetrated."

Richard's tranquil facade began to crumble and was replaced with a steely expression. "Fine. Go to the police. Attempt to save Downton's esteemed valet. But if you do, know that I will release ever gun in my arsenal. "

Richard began to close the gap between him and Mary. Matthew stepped up and placed himself between them. "There will not be enough evidence to find me guilty of anything. You, on the hand, will be the one that will suffer. No longer will you be my protected wife. I will twist the story to fit my needs. I will be the victim, the poor husband who didn't know the full story of the woman he was marrying. All of England will be a twitter with the story of Lady Mary and her foreign paramour who suspiciously died in her arms during a heated tryst. And the trust me, the story will not be as innocent as you described to me. You and your family's reputation will be caked with mud. The name of Lady Mary will be synonymous with whore. "

Before Mary could utter a word in her defense, Matthew hurled Richard across the room by his coat collars slamming him into side table knocking a vase over with a resounding crash. He then forced Richard into an armchair.

Leaning with all his weight, he pushed his forearm across Richard's windpipe. Matthew warned, "Don't ever call her that. Do you hear me?" Matthew bent closer blocking Sir Richard's ability to breathe even more.

Mary stood stock still in shock. She had never seen this side of Matthew. Never even knew it existed. Perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised. He had somehow survived almost four years in the trenches seeing humanity at its worst. Yet, as she watched him manhandle her husband, Mary felt a warm thrill skitter up her back. Never had she felt so loved.

"Do you hear me?" Matthew bellowed. A sickly hue began to spread over Richard's face. Good God, he was choking him to death.

"Matthew! You've got to stop!" Mary tried to pull Matthew off. He only swatted her away with his free arm.

"I've had enough of him. How he treats you. He's a God damn murderer, "Matthew spared her a brief glace before returning to Richard.

"Matthew, please stop, you're killing him." Mary beseeched. "He may not be worth it, but please stop. Please, I beg. . ."

The door to the library swung open. Sybil and Tom mouths dropped at the melee before them.

"We heard shouts," Sybil began. "Dear God, Tom, do something?"

Following his wife's command, Tom jumped into the fray, successfully pulling Matthew off Richard. "Let me go. Let me go!" Matthew struggled against Tom's bear hug.

"Easy now. Calm yourself. Now what the hell is going on here?"

Sybil turned to Mary, "As we were heading toward dinner, Tom and I heard a crash followed by shouting. Luckily Mama and Granny didn't notice." Sybil looked at her sister. "Mary, please tell us, what is the meaning of all this?

As color flooded back into Richard's face and Matthew settled down enough for Tom to release his hold, Mary recounted all that she had learned that evening.

Still shaking her head in disbelief, Sybil asked, "So Richard is responsible for Vera Bates' murder? What are we going to do? Bates hangs at dawn."

Mary inwardly smiled at her sister's tenacity, always ready to face a problem head on and look for solutions. Indeed, what were they going to do?

From across the room, forgotten as Mary recounted the sordid tale, Richard spoke, "It's not what 'we' are going to do. It's what Mary is going to do? Isn't that right, dear?"

Mary heard the challenge in his voice. He was right though. Everybody would act upon her cue. If she wanted this whole mess to disappear, nobody would say a word. If she wanted the Pamuk incident to stay safely shut in her closet of skeletons, all she had to do was forget about everything she learned tonight. The thought was tempting.

"And let me remind you, in case you have forgotten, your poor father is upstairs as we speak recovering from a heart attack. Do you really want to cause him any more undue stress? The magnitude of this scandal would be huge. Could his heart really handle the fall out? Would he be able to survive another attack?"

"You bastard," Matthew breathed out before attempting to charge at Richard again.

Tom restrained him. "You are not helping the situation by going off half cocked."

"Mary, please. . ." Sybil pleaded. Mary wasn't sure for what.

Mary brought her hands up temples and stalked toward the window. Brief images swirled through her mind. Richard ordering Vera's death. Her father lying incapacitated in bed. Anna pregnant. The newspapers with her name splashed across. Matthew strangling Richard. A noose around Bates' neck. Her mother's disapproving face. . .

"Jesus Christ! A man's life is at stake. What is wrong with you?"

Tom's outburst brought Mary back to the present. What indeed was wrong with her? An innocent man was scheduled to die and she could prevent it. Most of her life had been spent making decision of little value or importance. What dress would she wear today? What party to attend? Who to accept a dance from at a ball? Petty choices through and through. For once in her life, she had the opportunity to make a decision of extreme consequence and, by God, she was going to do what was right.

With her mind made up, Mary marched to the door and hollered for Carson.

"Yes, My Lady?" Carson did a brief double take at remains of the broken vase strewn around the floor.

"Please tell Higgins the car needs to be brought around. Sir Richard can't stay for dinner tonight and will be heading back to Haxby immediately."

"You're choosing a very dangerous path, my dear," Richard warned as he got up from his seat and straightened his suit jacket. "Know that I never give in and I never lose. This will be your ruin." With that said Richard swept out of the room.

"Carson, please make sure, Richard actually gets into the car. I don't want him wandering around Downton. He is not wanted here."

"Very well, My Lady." With a smile that conveyed deep satisfaction, Carson closed the library door and followed Richard.

A deep sigh escaped Mary. She collapsed onto a settee. A part of her couldn't believe what she had just done. Another part had never been prouder.

"Bravo, My Lady!" Tom cheered.

"Yes, Mary," Sybil sat down beside her. "You did the right thing."

Matthew hung back. Mary looked over her shoulder at him. Sought his approval.

"I am proud of you, my dear," he softly said. Richard had also just called her his dear. But coming from Matthew, she felt cherished. She felt alive.

"So what do we do next?" Sybil wanted to know.

"I'd say first we need to get in contact with Bates' lawyer and put in a last minute appeal based on this new evidence. I can assist in any motions that might need to be filed." Matthew offered.

Mary shot him a smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Matthew. Yes, we need to get a hold of his lawyer. Cameron, I think his name was. I don't know any more than that. Anna would. She's staying at Grantham House. Let's start there. "

Mary strode over to telephone at her father's desk. She picked it up, pressed the hook down and waited for the operator to answer. Silence. She tried again. Dead silence.

"What's wrong?" Tom scooted in beside her. "Let me try."

He pressed the hook down again and again. "Hello, hello, is anyone there? Hello, can you hear me?"

Carson reentered the library. "Excuse me, I just wanted to let you know that Sir Richard is en route back to Haxby."

"Thank you," Mary smiled at him. "Oh and Carson, is there something wrong with the telephone in here? We're unable to get the operator.

"All the lines in the county have been down since this morning due to the ice. Thomas spoke with the lady who runs the telegraph office in the village this afternoon and she didn't expect any of the lines to be fixed for several days due to the holidays."

"Not fixed for days?" Mary wanted to be sure.

"That's what we were told. Is that a problem, My Lady?"

Mary turned a nervous look back at the others. "No, Carson. Everything will be fine."

After Carson had left the room, Mary rejoined her team, for that is how she viewed them. They were a team on a mission to save a man's life. God, Mary had never felt this alive and scared before in whole life.

"So what's our next step?" Matthew inquired.

"Branson. . .I mean, Tom, are you still comfortable driving Papa's old Rolls Royce? Higgins took the Bentley. "

"Just hand over the keys!"

With a nod of satisfaction, Mary queried her team, "Anyone fancy a trip to London tonight?"

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><p><strong>AN**: Next chapter-Hitting the road and picking out names. . .

Thanks everyone for reading and taking the time to review! Seriously, much appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**_**: **__ Sorry this chapter took so long to get up! I started it a while back, but the last few weeks have been one big Christmas blur of baking cookies, visits to Santa and kids' holiday concerts, etc. _

_As always, I don't pretend to be an expert of much. I did do some basic research of 20__th__ century cars and I think the windshield wiper description with the crank is fairly accurate. _

_Thanks again for all the kind reviews and helpful suggestions! You guys rock! _

_Since this will be the last chapter before Christmas (and Christmas special—yay, can't wait!), just want to wish everyone a very happy holiday wherever you might be! And safe travels to everyone who is voyaging near and far._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

December 31st, 1919

7:50 pm

Wandsworth Prison

"That feels absolutely amazing." Anna closed her eyes and her head lolled her head back against the pillows of the settee.

"I'm not sure how you are still able to stand up." John observed as he massaged his wife's extremely swollen feet.

"Some days I'm not sure either."

This was how it was supposed to have been. Just the two of them sitting together after a long day. Debriefing the news and gossip of the day. Massaging sore muscles or knees or, in this case, feet. Except they should be in their own home, their own cottage, not a small office with two guards keeping watch.

But she had told John no regrets and she meant it. They were going to have a brilliant final evening or else. Or else what? She wasn't sure. All she knew was she wanted a night where she could simply enjoy John's company one last time.

Amazingly, after John's initial confession, they had been able to have a rather normal, relaxed evening. They took their time eating; talking over mundane topics, not delving into anything too personal. Anna gave updates on everyone at Downton including a lively rendition of Mrs. Patamore's latest battle with Lord Grantham's dog, Isis, who was determined to keep stealing bacon from the kitchen.

Now as she sprawled the length of the settee with her legs and feet stretched across John's lap, Anna realized that besides their honeymoon night, she had never spent this much time alone with John. True, they spent countless hours in the courtyard and in the servant's hall together. They had taken numerous walks to the village and around Downton's gardens together. But they had never truly been alone. There was always the chance someone would interrupt them, bother them or call one of them away. Their touches, their embraces had always been chaste and hidden due to prying eyes. But tonight, Anna reveled in the ability to touch John wherever and whenever she wanted.

Anna brought her hand up to his face and let it slide down his cheek, neck and arm. What a freedom it was to caress her husband, to feel his warm skin underneath her hands. To feel him alive. Yet Anna did not miss the irony of the situation. They were as free as they had ever been with each other, but in only a matter of hours, they would be forever parted. Like a magnet, Anna was drawn to the wall clock hanging behind her. Five minutes to 8 o'clock. Twelve hours to dawn.

John couldn't keep his hands any stiller than Anna. They left her feet and began a slow journey up to her rounded belly. John looked directly into Anna eyes as he laid both his palms on their baby.

Anna felt a ripple in her belly and John jerked his hands up. "Oh my! What was that? Anna, are you all right? Is that normal?"

She stifled a giggle at her husband's astonishment. "That, my dear, was our son."

"Can I feel it again?" John asked amazement tingeing his voice.

Anna pulled up her untucked shirt along with her camisole and placed his hands on her bare belly. After another minute, they were treated to several large kicks followed by what looked like a small appendage skidding across her womb just under the surface.

"I don't know what to say. . ."John was at a loss for words.

"I think that last bit was him turning himself around."

"Babies can do that?" John made tumbling motions. "In there?" Caressing Anna's belly once again.

"Some days I think he's going to be a boxer."

"It's simply astonishing." John stared in wonderment waiting for the next movement. Then his brow furrowed and eyes crinkled with a smile. "Wait a minute, you said he. You do realize it's a girl, don't you?"

"As I've told you once before, mother's intuition informs me it's a boy. "

"Oh, don't doubt the intuition of the Irish." John challenged.

"Intuition of the Irish? I've never heard of such a thing." Anna playfully swatted at John's chest. He caught her hand and brought her palm up to kiss.

This gave Anna the perfect opportunity to get the answers to a question she posed to him months back. "John, have you given thought to names?"

Long before the verdict had come down, Anna had charged John with choosing names for their baby. She thought it would be something positive to think about, something to look forward to as he sat in his dank cell. Now knowing that he would never see their child, it made it even more important to Anna that he choose the names.

"I have." He simply said as he continued to kiss her hand and wrist.

"And. . ." Anna prompted.

John brushed back her hair from her face then cupped her face. "Faith. I want to name our daughter Faith."

What an unusual name. Anna had not expected John to stray far from traditional standards. She was pleasantly surprised.

"I chose Faith because I want you to know that I have utter and complete faith in your ability to raise our daughter. " John ran his thumb over Anna's lower lip and took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you will bring her up to be kind and compassionate to all, smart and confident in her actions, always polite, industrious yet generous, and trusted and respected by her peers. I have no doubt that she will be a lady through and through. And if you ever doubt your capacity, just look at her and remember that I have and always will have faith in you, Anna.

Anna didn't know what to say. She struggled to bring herself into a sitting position. She reached up and brought his lips to down to hers. What she couldn't convey in words, she tried to in her kiss.

Finally, she tore her lips away only to settle them against his neck. "Thank you for having such confidence in me. Faith is a lovely name."

John breathed into her hair. "You're the bravest woman I've ever known."

Anna sensed the all too familiar buildup of tears in her eyes. No tears tonight. That had been her decree.

"You're only half done, John." Anna took a calming breath. "What about a boys name?"

"I told you it's going to be a girl. No need to bother with a boys name."

Anna puffed out exasperated, "John! No matter what your 'Irish intuition', which I seriously doubt exists, is telling you, we need a boy name too."

John laughed. "All right. All right. How about Bartholomew? Or Englebert? Perhaps Mortimer?

Anna slapped his hand. "You're not at all taking this seriously."

"You mean you don't like Aloysius? Or Hezekiah?" John couldn't keep a grin cracking across his face as he wrapped an arm around Anna and tickled her side.

"No!" Anna shrieked through giggles. "John Bates, you come up with a legitimate name right this minute or I'll. . ."

"Or you'll what?" John challenged as he tickled her again and kissed the side of her neck.

"Trust me, you don't want to mess with a nine month pregnant lady."

"Good point. " John conceded. "So, you want a boy's name?" Anna nodded. "Fair enough. How about Daniel?"

"As in the lion's den?"

John chucked. "No, as in my grandfather, my mother's father."

"The one that owned the bookshop?" Though John was never one to openly reminiscence about his past without considerable prompting, his grandfather had come up in conversation numerous times over the years.

"One in the same. He was a good man, the best." John paused before continuing. "He taught me much about life and what it meant to be a man."

Anna sensed there was more that John wanted to say. "Tell me about him."

"He was a quiet man, but if you took the time to listen, he had a lot to say." Sounds familiar thought Anna.

"With my father being deployed to God knows where for most of my childhood, my mother brought us back to her family's village of Kilrush, County Clare, to stay with her widowed father. I spent countless hours with him in the bookshop. Talking, sorting, categorizing books."

"He was a mean storyteller." John smiled and shook his head. "You see, he had lived quite a life before settling back in Kilrush. He worked as a longshoreman in Dublin, rode the seas as a whaler for a few years and even served a stint in the British Navy."

"He took me under his wing. Let's just say I was a bit of hellion during my adolescent years, what with no father to speak of. Every day, he would place a new book in my hand. Sometimes it would be a Greek tragedy or something by Shakespeare. Other times it would be more contemporary literature such as Tolstoy or Dickens." Anna laughed at the sour face John made. She knew of his aversion to Dickens. "He also exposed me to the works of historians and philosophers such as Plato, Rousseau, Hume and the transcendentalists."

"Not only did he introduce me to such a breadth of knowledge, but he took the time to discuss what I read. I was dreadful student at school."

Anna shook her head. "I find that hard to believe. You love learning so much."

John cuddled Anna closer to him. "Let's just say, the nuns and I did not see eye to eye, but my Grandfather and I were on the same page."

"When I decided to join the army, my mother was adamantly against it. She had seen the sad life my father had lived. I don't think my Grandfather was thrilled about my enlistment but he understood. He knew it was essential for a man had to go out in the world and see it for himself even if it meant he saw things that would have been best left unseen."

Anna's interlaced her fingers with John's and squeezed lightly. It was difficult for him to speak of Africa. She always felt privileged when he bestowed a look into that heavily guarded piece of his past.

"After several months in country, I received a small package which was amazing considering the atrocious quality of the mail service. My Grandfather had sent me a copy of Ralph Waldo Emerson's _Essays_. Some men turned to the Bible to get them through the war, others carried photos of their family. Lord Grantham had a family portrait of him, his Ladyship, the girls and their dog at the time, Hannibal I believe, that young Mary had drawn that he always kept in his breast pocket. For me, it was that small book of Emerson. "

"I'm sure your Grandfather was glad to provide you some comfort in such a difficult place and time."

John turned to look directly down at Anna. "That's the unfortunate thing. He died while I was in Africa. I never got to thank him."

Anna reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of John's face. "I'm sure he knew." Her hand trailed down his face and rested at his neck. "Thank you John for telling me about your grandfather. And thank you picking out the names. Faith and Daniel are fine choices. "

John smiled sadly down at her. "I am glad I am able to play some role in our child's life."

Like a magnet, Anna couldn't stop her head from turning to look at the clock.

"Don't. Don't look." With fingertips lightly brushing her cheek, John turned her face back to him and slowly brought her lips to his. And with that Anna lost all track of time.

* * *

><p>8:20pm<p>

98 miles from London

"All right, love. On the count of three. . .one. . .two. . .three."

As Tom counted to three, Sybil extended her upper body out of passenger side window and grabbed the passing windshield wiper. She then proceeded to bang off globs of ice that had accumulated and were making it impossible for the wiper to function properly.

"Good job! I'd kiss you if I didn't think I might kill us in the process." Tom spared Sybil a sly smile before turning back to the road. "Roll up the window; then give the crank another spin and we'll be set for awhile."

Matthew leaned forward over the back of the front seat. "Really Sybil, I wish that you would let me handle the windshield wipers."

Sybil turned the crank to keep the windshield wipers going. She whirled around wet and bedraggled to Mary and Matthew. "No thanks, Cousin. I'm managing just fine."

Mary couldn't help it. A giggle escaped. The whole situation teetered on absurd. It felt refreshing to laugh. It disconnected her from a reality which was not humorous by any means.

Matthew gave Mary a withering look. "She's going to get frostbite. Or worse fall out of the blast car."

"Sybil can take care of herself. And it's going to be a long trip. There will be plenty of time for you to show your might."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. It is rather slow going. How far do you think we've come? Ten miles, perhaps? With the roads the way they are we'll be lucky to make it. . ."

_. . .by dawn. _ The same thought had been going through Mary's head for the last hour.

Mary had trouble looking Matthew in the eye. "We'll just have to give it our best try; that's all we can do." She leaned her head against the cool window and blindly looked out. This was all her fault, every bit of it. All her missteps and horrendous decisions were laid out for all to see, as were the ramifications. For most of her life, she never had to face any ill consequences of her actions, her name and family had protected her from them.

But she could clearly connect the dots here. Because she allowed Kemel into her bed. . . because she chose to cover it up. . .because she had a story worth being sold to the press. . .because she entangled herself with Richard Carlisle. . .John Bates was scheduled to die. Anna would become a widow. A child would be born fatherless. All because she had made some exceptionally foolish choices. God, how could she have been so brainless?

"Mary," Matthew began, "I know what you're thinking. None of this. . ."

Mary turned her body to face him shifting the comforter that was spread over them due to the cold weather.

"No, I don't think you have any idea what I'm thinking." Mary countered.

"You blame yourself. " Matthew simply stated as he searched her eyes.

Mary sensed the tears begin to pool. She closed her eyes to keep them at bay and shook her head. "How can I not? You heard everything tonight, the whole disgraceful tale. " Mary opened her eyes. "Tell me, Matthew. Please tell me. How can I not be held culpable? My decisions. My actions." A single tear drop slalomed down her cheek.

Matthew snaked his hand under the comforter to find hers. "Mary. . ." Matthew began.

A blast of cold air smacked both of them as Sybil once again shimmied her body through the passenger window.

Mary barely registered Tom counting or Sybil banging the wiper again. All she was aware of was Matthew touch. She held his hand in a vice grip. She didn't want to let go. Not sure she could even if she wanted to.

The cool air ceased blowing through the car as Sybil rolled the window back up. The change in temperature also brought Mary back to her senses. She tried to pull her hand back, but Matthew matched her previous iron hold.

Mary dared to look up at him. "I can't even begin to imagine what you think of me, now that you know the entire story. You must despise me."

"Never could I despise you." Mary's heart flip flopped in her chest. "I see beside me a magnificently strong and intelligent lady who is as classy as she is lovely. Who despite attempts to hide it has a heart a mile wide. No, Mary, I don't despise you. I never have and I don't think I ever could."

With her free hand, Mary wiped her eyes to staunch any additional tears . "Are we talking about the same Mary? Because right now I'm not feeling very strong or smart or beautiful and definitely not classy." Mary sniffled and rubbed her nose which had begun to run. "I'm ashamed and embarrassed and positively frightened to death we won't make it London in time. And no matter how you cast stones, I am at fault."

Matthew turned in the seat and grabbed both of Mary's wrists knocking the comforter to the car floor. "That's enough. I've heard enough." Mary tried to pull away, but Matthew's grip was unyielding.

"You listen to me. You are not to blame. There is only one person responsible for the death of Vera Bates and that is Richard Carlisle. You didn't poison her. You didn't help cover up the crime. You didn't lie about it. Richard is the sole guilty party.

"But if only I had made different choices. . ."

Matthew's hold softened and he merely held her hands in his. "Yes, I am sure you wish you had. That's the beauty of hindsight. I wager Bates wishes he had never married the loony Mrs. Bates in the first place. But we can't go back and change those decisions. We just have to live with them and move forward. "

"Just like you've done with Lavinia?" Mary challenged.

Matthew dropped her hands and looked sideways. "That's different."

"How so?" Mary brought a hand to his cheek and turned him to face her once again.

"It just is. You don't understand. Lavinia was special and. . .I . . .I ruined . . .It was all my. . ." Matthew mumbled.

"Fault?" Mary finished. Matthew's icy glare told her she made her point, but he was nowhere ready to discuss the matter further.

"I'm sorry. That was out of bounds." Mary sighed. "You know, I'm not sure either of us is ready to give up wallowing in self-pity, as pathetic as that sounds. So let's call a truce."

"A truce?"

"Yes, an armistice of sorts. How about while we're on this trip, neither of us brings up the past—no talk of Lavinia, Pamuk, Vera or Carlisle or how we could have done something differently? " Mary risked a small smile up at Matthew.

Matthew returned it. "But self-pity can be quite effective in filling up time on lengthy car rides. What will we do instead?"

"I suppose we could play some sort of game." Mary paused to think. "As girls, Edith, Sybil and I spent hours playing twenty questions on long trips, literally driving our governesses mad especially since we insisted they play with us."

Sybil turned around. "Mary's telling the truth. Miss Galloway was never the same again after sharing a carriage with us to Scotland one summer. "

"All right. I'm game. I'll go first." Matthew volunteered.

"Is it an animal?" Tom offered up from the front.

"No."

"Is it a vegetable?" Sybil questioned.

"No."

"Agggh, come on. Who actually chooses minerals in this game?" Mary complained with a grin.

"Too hard for your side of the Crawley family, I see."

"Not a bit. We're always up for a challenge." Mary pulled up the comforter off the floor and brought it again to their laps. After she did, Matthew's hand once again found hers under the cover.

Mary briefly closed her eyes and composed herself. "Is it indigenous to Britain?"

As Matthew answered, another chilly breeze swept through the car.

"Once again Lass. . .One. . .two. . .three. . ."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: **__Happy New Year! Hope everyone survived the holidays—including the Christmas special!_

_Just one historical bit in case you're interested: The Rainbow was actually banned in the UK from 1915 until 1926 after an obscenity trial found it too lewd for public consumption. All copies were summarily seized and burned. _

_As always, I appreciate your comments and suggestions. Helps to keep this story from going off the deep end!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

December 31st, 1919

11:28pm

65 miles from London

Patience had never been Mary's strongest suit. When she wanted something, she wanted it immediately. She abhorred waiting. And she most definitely hated being out of control.

"Branson, can't you go any faster? It stopped sleeting awhile ago."

"No, My Lady," The title snarled off Tom's tongue. "The road is still a sheet of ice."

Mary sighed. She hadn't meant to slight Tom. Old habits were simply hard to break. There was a part of her that would always see him as Branson, Downton chauffer. Tom, brother-in-law, was harder to wrap her head around.

"But we need to speed up. At this rate, we'll not make it."

"If we go much faster, we won't make it either. We'll be nose first in a ditch."

"Oh cripes! We're never going to get there!" Mary leaned over the front seat to make her point.

"Mary, calm down," Matthew entreated.

Tom briefly looked up at Mary in the review mirror. She could see annoyance in his eyes. "Do you want to drive? I'll gladly pull over and you can take the wheel. Just say the word."

"Tom, please. . ." Sybil attempted.

Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, I didn't mean . . . "

"Then shut the bloody hell up."

Mary huffed back into her seat as Tom continued to mutter to himself about her audacity.

"You know, I can still hear you."

Tom looked at Mary again in the mirror. "Do you think I care?"

"Enough, you two. We're on the same side here," Matthew interjected wearily.

Both Tom and Mary quieted but continued to stare crossly at each other in the mirror.

"Look out!" Sybil shouted. Several huge tree branches lay in the middle of road downed by the storm. Tom slammed on the brakes and swerved to the left. The decrease in speed caused the back end of the car to fishtail uncontrollably on the ice.

"Hold on, everyone!" Tom instructed over the screams of his passengers. Mary and Matthew reached for the seat in front of them while Sybil held tight to the windshield wiper crank.

As the car began to careen off the left side of the road, Tom overcompensated with his steering veering to the right side crunching over the mammoth tree branches in the process.

"Owww!" Sybil wailed as she lost hold of the crank and hit her head on the dashboard. Mary was thrown against Matthew as the car bumped and jutted over the branches.

A loud pop sounded a finale as the car cleared the tree branches and lumbered to a halt.

"Holy Mother of God! Is everyone all right?" Tom worried turning in his seat. "Jesus, Sybil! Is that blood? Are you hurt, love?"

"I think I'm fine." Tom ran his fingers over her forehead that oozed blood. "Am I bleeding?"

Mary shook her head to dispel the shock of the last thirty seconds. Before she could disentangle herself from Matthew, his strong arms held her to him. "Mary, are you injured?"

"No. . .no, I'm all right." Well, that wasn't quite true. Physically, she suffered no ill effects from the accident, but feeling his arms around her made her whole body go haywire.

"Really Tom, I'm not that hurt. It's just a scratch."

Mary looked to front seat for the first time since stopping. "My God, Sybil! You're bleeding. "

Sybil took a handkerchief out of her purse to staunch the bleeding. "Really, I'm all right. It's just a small cut. All I have to do is stop the bleeding." She released an exasperated sigh. "I am a nurse, you know. Have a little faith in my diagnosis. Shouldn't someone go have a look at the damage to the car?"

Matthew and Mary got out of the car. Tom gave his wife one more anxious look before also climbing out. On first inspection, there seemed to be little damage until they rounded the car and saw the blown out back left tire.

"Please tell me there's a spare." Matthew implored.

"Yes, on the back," confirmed Tom. "I'm going to need your help changing it."

"Not a problem. Just tell me what to do."

As Tom and Matthew, begin to take the spare tire off the back of the car, Mary just stared at the scene in front of her. For Heaven's sake, they had almost been killed. Sybil was hurt. The car was damaged. And every minute they spent on the side of the road, was time lost on their pursuit to London. Could this night get any worse?

Knowing that she was of little help changing a tire, Mary sat down on a large log just off the side of the road. She put her head in her hands and did something she hadn't done in long while. Mary prayed. She wasn't even sure what she was praying for. Of course, she wanted to get to London in time to save Bates. That was first priority. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if he hanged. But beyond that, Mary needed help sorting out the mess that was her life. Why had she ever let herself get involved with Richard? What was she supposed to do now?

The log teetered beneath Mary. She looked up to find Sybil taking a seat next to her.

"Everything will work out, Mary. I know it will."

Mary just shook her head at her sister's seemingly never ending optimism. "Well, I am glad somebody thinks it will, because I'm not so sure. For the love of God Sybil, it's the middle of the night and we're on the side of the road with a flat tire. You've got blood on your face. We're lucky to be alive and you think everything is going to work out? What'd I give to be as naïve as you?

A spark of infuriation flared in Sybil's eyes. "I'm not a child. Trust me, I know more of the world and it's suffering than you ever have or will. I've seen the horrors the war inflicted on its soldiers. Not just the physical injuries, but the mental ones, the ones the men live with for the rest of their lives. I've witnessed families too poor to buy even the most basic provisions. At the hospital, children are routinely dropped off because their families can't afford to feed them. So don't tell me, I'm naïve. I can tell you all about the real world. I've lived in it for the past year. "

"Sybil, I didn't mean to insinuate. . ."

"I just choose to look at things through a different lens. I'm not so green as to believe that terrible things never happen. I fully recognize we may not make it to London by dawn. But I don't know how dwelling on that fact helps us along the way."

Sybil turned more on the log and took Mary's hands. "The same goes for your future. It's all about the perspective you choose. What lens will you be looking through?"

"I don't know what you mean," Mary feigned and looked away.

Sybil squeezed her hands. "Of course you do. You're at a crossroads with Richard, your marriage, your place in society. The next few weeks and months are going to be . . . difficult."

"That's an understatement."

"But how will you face them, that's the question. With courage and strength? Or are you going to go into hiding, a broken woman?"

"Oh, it's so easy for you to say that. Youngest daughters get away with running off with the chauffer. It's seen as hopelessly romantic." Mary couldn't help grinning at her sister. "You know, many society women have been living their deepest fantasies through you. . . But as for me, I'll be ruined along with our family name."

"Listen to me, Mary. Right before Tom and I married, he gave me this bit of wisdom, 'I can't promise our life together will always be smooth sailing, but I can promise it will be worth it.'"

Mary mulled over Tom's simple, but astute words. If only it was that easy.

"Trust me, Mary. You may have a hard time of it for awhile, but in the end, all the headaches and pain will be for a life worth living."

"I hope so," Mary wished she could be as confident.

"I know so," Sybil reaffirmed and reached to give Mary a brief hug.

Tom dragged himself off the ground picking up the car jack. "Looks like we're all set."

"Huzzah!" Matthew applauded and turned to the sisters. "Ladies, I believe we can continue on our way."

Tom helped Sybil off the log kissing her injured forehead. "Are you sure you're all right? We could find someplace for you to stay. . ."

"Not another word. I'm absolutely fine. Come on, we're wasting time."

"What time is it anyway?" Mary questioned Matthew as he pulled her up.

Matthew pulled out his pocket watch, read the time and placed it back in his pocket.

Mary was about to question him again when he pulled her tight against him and gave her a hard, quick kiss.

"Happy New Year, Mary."

Mary just stared as Matthew strode back to the car.

"Come on, Mary!" Sybil called out.

Mary blinked a few times to clear her head and dashed back to the car. 1920 might be more promising than she had previously thought.

* * *

><p>January 1st, 1920<p>

12:00am

Wandsworth Prison

A crackle of firecrackers filled the night air in eerie juxtaposition to the steely quiet of the halls of Wandsworth.

"What was that?" Anna jumped a bit before nestling herself back against John's chest.

"Firecrackers, I suppose. Boys out celebrating the new year." As John looked up at the wall clock, it softly began to chime the new hour, the new year.

They sat side by side on the settee with their legs propped up on the coffee table. His arm secured her to his chest. As the chiming continued, John gazed at Anna and brought his lips down to hers.

"Happy New Year, Anna. I wish the best for you . . . always."

Anna closed her eyes as they kissed, but as much as John wanted to close his and savor the moment, he couldn't. He couldn't stop looking at her, drinking in her beauty. He wished time to stop.

Anna pulled away slightly and when she opened her eyes, John saw a misery that only he could fully understand. He knew she wanted to say something, but was having trouble finding the words. He needed to save her from the torment.

"Come on, let's enjoy 1920 to the fullest, all eight hours we have," he kidded with what he hoped was a charming smile.

Anna drew herself away from him. He could see fury in her eyes. "How dare you joke about. . ." She began and then the absurdity of his statement and her anger hit and she began to laugh.

John felt better for a moment, pleased to wring a grin out of her. But her laughter quickly transformed into a heaving sob.

"Anna," His fingers clawed into her shoulders and shook her softly. "Anna, remember no crying," he pleaded.

"I can't, John. I just can't."

John pulled her into as tight of embrace as he could with her belly between them. "It's all right. Cry all you want. Cry a damned river if you have to. If anyone deserves to, it's you. "

After a minute or so, her tears subsided and John could detect only the occasional sniffle into his shirt. He could physically feel her willing herself to calm down, to gain control of her senses. God, his Anna was a trooper. Even on the battlefield, John had never seen as much courage as the 110-lb creature currently in his arms.

Anna pulled away wiping her eyes. "No, you're bloody right!" John raised his eyebrows slightly at her language. Anna was never one to curse, but desperate times did tend to alter normal behaviors. "I want the best eight hours 1920 can offer us."

John worked hard to prevent a chuckle from escaping. The last thing he wanted Anna to think was that he was making light of her. She was a spitfire and man, how he loved her.

Anna brought her feet off the table and turned to the large carpet bag on the floor that she had brought with her.

"What else you got in there? I can't believe Warden Cox let you bring in that whole bag."

Anna turned around. "Oh, he had the bag searched, but he didn't mind. To be honest, I think part of him realizes you're not guilty. He has been incredibly kind given the circumstances. Plus, he likes me."

A sharp, irrational, jealous pang seared John's heart. Of course, Warden Cox liked Anna. What man wouldn't? John had told Anna several times since his sentencing that he wanted her to live a full life after he was gone and that meant remarrying if she chose to. Anna claimed she never could or would. But John knew things might be different down the road. A good man may come along who would love her and treat her and their child well. And she might, despite all her assurances, end up loving him back. As much as John wanted her to be happy, the thought of her loving another completely shattered his heart.

"How about some reading?" Anna interrupted John's bleak thoughts.

Anna proceeded to pull out several books from her bag. She handed them to John and snuggled back into place against his chest.

John looked down at the first book on the pile, _The Rainbow_ by D.H. Lawrence.

"Anna, how on earth did you manage to get a copy?" John could not contain his delight. _The Rainbow_ had been at the center of an obscenity trial several years prior due to its frank and explicit sexuality. It was currently banned from being published or sold anywhere in Britain.

Anna sheepishly grinned. "Well, that's a bit of a story."

"Oh, I bet it is. I hope you did nothing that would land yourself in here," he teased.

"You shush now!" Anna giggled and continued on. "I knew how much you liked Lawrence's first novel. . ."

"Yes_, Sons and Lovers_," provided John.

"And I remembered you going on how idiotic it was that this book was banned. So, when I came to London to stay for the trial, I went down to the Portobello Road market. I heard that you could get anything you wanted there. So, I sought out a bookseller, a nice gentleman. . ." Anna laughed at the doubtful face John was making.

"No really, he was a pleasant, elderly gentleman, not unsavory at all. But luckily he didn't have any scruples about breaking the law, at least not for the right price. Unfortunately, the book just got delivered yesterday. He had to obtain a copy from America." Anna paused. "I just thought you'd like it."

John was drowning with love for Anna. She was making deals on the black market -the black market for Christ's sake! - to get a book for him simply because she thought he'd like it.

"You do like it, right?" His silence obviously made her anxious.

"Of course, I do. It's . . . a precious gift."

"I only wish it had arrived sooner." John knew what she meant. He would never get to read the four hundred odd pages.

John put the book aside and framed her face with both hands and leisurely kissed her. "Thank you, my dear."

When he finally pulled away, Anna urged him, "Come on, take a peek at the rest."

The next book in the pile was a slim novel, Willa Cather's _My Antonia_. It had been their first novel together.

"I love this book, "Anna gushed. "I'm not sure because of the story or because we read it together."

"Probably both. It's special to me, too."

When John returned to Downton after being led away by Vera, their relationship had needed tending to. He had hurt Anna tremendously. And though they had come to terms with why he had left and Anna had seen fit to forgiven him, their bond was extremely fragile. Their trust in one another needed to be rebuilt. One way they attempted this was by promising to meet nightly, no matter how cold, in the courtyard after their work was completed. Sometimes they would talk about the mundane news of the house; other times they would discuss philosophy and how their world views aligned or differed. But they always ended their time outside by reading.

They started reading aloud to each other on a whim. John had just picked up a copy of _My Antonia_ at the local bookseller in the village and had it in his coat pocket. When Anna embraced him upon her arrival outside, she discovered the novel. Anna was intrigued by its plot and setting in the wild, American prairie. She suggested since he hadn't begun reading it yet, they could read it together. Thus, began their nightly story time. They alternated reading, sometimes by chapters, sometimes by nights. It was a symphony to John's ears every time Anna read aloud. Their love was strengthened by the simple sharing of great words and ideas. Reading helped rehabilitate their relationship.

John laid _My Antonia_ down and continued through the pile. The next two books he could recognize simply be touch; he had read them that many times. John fondly caressed the tattered cover of his copy of _Walden_. There had been many a night when his knee ached and he couldn't sleep that he turned to Thoreau for comfort. He knew the chapter_, Where I Lived, and What I Lived For_, almost by heart. He had thought of it often during his many months at Wandsworth.

Beneath _Walden_ sat _The Rose_, a collection of poems by W.B. Yeats. The black leather binding was cracked from age. Amazingly, the book had remained in John's possession through many relocations over the last twenty five years. The beauty and mythology of Yeats called to his Irish heart.

"I found those two in your room at Downton. I believe they were some of your favorites."

"Yes, indeed."

John moved onto the last book in the pile. It wasn't his, but he still recognized it. It was Anna's personal Bible. She often carried it with her to Sunday services.

Anna looked down at her hands. "Just in case, you might want to . . . oh, I don't know."

John knew Anna was devout in her religious beliefs. And she knew he was not. Though they had attended weekly services together, John came because that what was expected of a Downton servant. Anna came because she believed in God.

During his eight years together at Downton, John and Anna had discussed faith numerous times especially during their nightly courtyard rendezvous. It was not that John didn't want to believe, he did. He just hadn't found something he could believe in. He couldn't reconcile his life experiences with Christian doctrine, or any religion for that matter. He did not understand how a God who was supposed to be loving and omnipotent could allow such misery and heartache to occur in the world again and again. During his time in Africa, he witnessed unimaginable horrors. Soon after arriving in country, the British Army instituted a scorched earth policy where Boer farms would be burned to the ground and all livestock slaughtered. Civilian women and children were forced into internment camps where disease was rampant and rations inadequate. What kind of God would allow such atrocities to be part of his plan?

And what of Anna? How could John ever put faith in a God that made her suffer? He could understand God punishing him, he had made far too many mistakes in life, but Anna was innocent. Her only crime was loving him. And their child? Did their babe deserve to be born fatherless? No, there was no God for John. Or if there was, he could by no means be a loyal servant to him.

Even though Anna wished for him to find his faith, she never pushed him. That wasn't her style. She would never foist her beliefs on another, even someone she loved. He appreciated that she found comfort in book he now held his in hands and knew she simply wanted the same for him. If only he could find such solace.

John gathered the books around him. "Well, that's an impressive collection you put together."

"Which shall we start with?"

He thought for a moment, "How about Yeats?" It always warmed his soul, like being wrapped up in a comfortable, old blanket.

"Yeats, it is." Anna reached for it as John placed the other books on the floor next to them. "I'll start off if you don't mind."

"Be my guest."

As Anna began to describe the Lake Isle of Innisfree, a peace washed over John. He closed his eyes. The gentle lilt of her voice soothed away all the wretchedness of the last year.

They passed the book back and forth between poems. John was in a cocoon with just his Anna. He could almost forget where they were, almost forget the guards sitting just outside the door, almost forget the clock ticking on the wall.

Anna began the next selection. Her voice smooth and clear.

**_When You are Old _**

**_When you are old and grey and full of sleep,_**

**_And nodding by the fire, take down this book,_**

**_And slowly read, and dream of the soft look_**

**_Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;_**

**_How many loved your moments of glad grace,_**

**_And loved your beauty with love false or true,_**

**_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,_**

**_And loved the sorrows of your changing face;_**

**_And bending down beside the glowing bars,_**

**_Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled_**

**_And paced upon the mountains overhead_**

**_And hid his face amid a crowd of stars._**

John could hear Anna take an unsteady breath. "That's me. That's going to be me," Anna whispered. "I don't want to be here without you. Please don't leave me alone."

Maybe Yeats hadn't been such a good choice after all. Anna needed comfort. Her despair tore at his soul.

John picked up the Bible.

The front cover opened in his hands to reveal the end page where Anna had written her name. _Anna May Smith Bates_. He could tell by the ink that "Bates" had been recently added. John's heart flip-flopped in his chest.

He turned the pages until he found the book and verse he wanted. Anna gave him a quizzical expression.

"I was an altar boy, I'll have you know," John quipped his eyes crinkling.

He softly kissed her temple and began to read from Ecclesiastes.

**_To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven; _**

**_A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;_**

**_ A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; _**

**_A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; _**

**_A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; _**

**_A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; _**

**_A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; _**

**_A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace._**

"When I'm gone, Anna," John swallowed before continuing. "Please remember to laugh . . . and dance . . . and most importantly love."

Anna pushed herself up and touched his face. "Tell me, we'll see each other again. I have to have something to hold on to."

Though John had his doubts about the existence of an afterlife, he couldn't bring himself to tell Anna that. But he wasn't lying when he told her, "There's nobody I would rather spend eternity with."

A breath shuttered out of Anna. She pressed her forehead to his, "Eternity cannot come soon enough, John Bates."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: ** I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write from Branson POV. I admit I have a soft spot for the Irish radical. I really enjoyed building a friendship between him and Anna/John.

Historical note: In general, corsets were starting to go by the wayside after WW1. That said, pregnancy corsets did exist. But I just can't see Anna going that route.

Thanks again for sticking with this story. Trust me, I won't make John and Anna's torment go on forever!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

January 1st, 1920

3:27am

35 miles from London

Large snowflakes continued to blanket the windshield. The wipers crossed back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. Tom could feel his eyelids begin to droop.

_Wake up, Man._

He cracked his window. A blast of cold air smacked him in the face, along with wet snowflakes. Thank God, it had warmed up a bit and the freezing rain had turned to snow. The roads were still icy, but the wipers were much more cooperative with snow. It wasn't necessary for Sybil to risk life and limb to bang ice off them.

Briefly, taking his eyes off the road, Tom looked over at his wife who was peacefully curled up asleep between the seat and car door. Her forehead still bore her earlier injury. He shook his head incredulously. What corker she was! Never could he imagine a better partner.

Yet, there was a piece of him deep down that feared he wasn't being fair to her. He had dragged her away from her family, her lifestyle, all she knew. And what did he provided her with? A modest flat that leaked when it rained. . . .A standard of living that required her to work. . .An absent husband who took incredible risks for his job. Being back at Downton reminded him of all Sybil had given up.

It's not that Tom doubted her love for him or even her happiness with their marriage. He just felt he owed her more especially given his work over the last few months. He had been on the ground reporting the Irish Revolution. There were times when he wasn't sure if he was going to make it home alive. And even though he didn't provide Sybil with all the details of his exploits, she knew enough and was mad with worry. Tom hated causing her so much grief; she didn't deserve it.

He sighed. Why was life so difficult for those that truly loved each other? But he really shouldn't be complaining. His and Sybil's troubles were nothing compared to those of Anna and Bates. If there ever was a couple that had been put through the ringer, it was them. Tom hated to see his friends suffer as they had.

And yes, by God, they were his friends. In this frantic attempt to save Bates, Mary was largely motivated by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Matthew was horrified by the gross injustice of a legal system he was a member of and also sought to be there for Mary. Even Sybil was fueled more by righteous indignation than personal attachment to either Anna or Bates. But for Tom, these were his friends and he meant to help them any way possible. It was as simple as that.

Tom had naturally gravitated towards friendship with the pair. The Downton servants were not unlike the combatants of the Great War. They fell into distinct alliances. And Tom found much more in common with Anna and Bates, than he did with the Central Powers of O'Brien and Thomas. They both had sharp minds and honest hearts.

Tom had come to think of Anna as a surrogate older sister. He had grown up the youngest of six with five older sisters who despite being incredibly fond of bossing him around, provided him with much needed guidance. When Tom first arrived at Downton, Anna filled the void his sisters left. She made him feel at home with pleasant conversation and her genuine smile.

It wasn't long after the war ended that she came upon him in the servant's hall one afternoon. He was composing a letter of inquiry to the Dublin Times. He hadn't planned on telling anyone at Downton, not even Sybil, about his job aspirations until something actually panned out. But he found himself confiding in Anna. She encouraged him to send it saying she could most definitely picture him a journalist. Then she asked why he hadn't looked into such a career earlier. He didn't answer, but she looked in his eyes and could see the truth. He was waiting. Waiting for Sybil. Ever since discovering the note he had left for Sybil prior to his disastrous attempt to tar the visiting general, Anna was aware of his feelings for Lord Grantham's daughter. He'll never forget what she said next, "Mr. Branson, there comes a point when you either have to push the issue or you have to walk away. You can't wait forever." Tom knew she was talking from experience. As she got up to leave, he asked if she was tired of waiting for Bates, whether she could ever walk away. She just smiled, "Oh, I'm very good at big shoves."

And while Bates didn't particularly like to debate current affairs or politics, not that he was ill-informed, he and Tom had spent many dinners quietly discussing the nature of man, eternal truths, moral dilemmas and such. Most of their fellow workers paid them little attention or openly scoffed, except for Anna who always had an ear in their talks and would pipe in with the occasional insightful comment.

Throughout the years, he and Bates often borrowed books from each other. Bates had quite a library squirreled away in his room. Tom attempted to introduce him to more progressive ideas and Bates presented him with many of the classics that had been sorely neglected during his abysmal education at St. Malachy back in Dublin.

Their friendship could not have been cemented more than when Bates stopped by for a quick visit at the inn Tom was staying at after he had announced his intentions towards Sybil. Lord Grantham had just left. His attempt to buy Tom off rebuffed. How it angered him that the man believed he could be that easily swayed. When he heard a second knock at his door, he first thought that his Lordship was back to make an additional offer. He was quite surprised to find Bates standing there with a brown paper bag in hand. He had just been to Ripon on some business and wanted to stop by on his way back to Downton. He handed over the bag saying that it was a going away present from him and Anna. Inside was a brand new writing tablet and a copy of Rousseau's_ Discourse on the Origin and Basis of Inequality Among Men_. He explained that Anna thought the tablet would come in handy with his new job, though Bates wryly speculated that book might be of more use reporting the recent news in Ireland. Tom was truly touched. The men shook hands and wished each other the best, Tom adding that he hoped that all would work out for him and Anna. Bates nodded and cryptically added, "It will. Lady Sybil has been quite the inspiration for Anna." It was the last time they spoke.

As much as Tom was fond of each individually, he found them just as or more appealing as a couple. There were plenty of folks at Downton who just couldn't fathom their relationship. How could a girl so young and pretty want to be with a man so old and lame? But Tom always thought they complemented each other perfectly. They just clicked. He was probably one of the first to discover there was something more than friendship between the two. During his first night at Downton, Anna had taken to her bed with a cold. He remembered Bates innocently asking Miss O'Brien if Anna was still upstairs sick. At the time, Tom thought what a nice fellow to worry such about a fellow worker. Then on his way upstairs at the end of the evening, Tom happened upon Bates in the kitchen. Standing unnoticed in the hallway, Tom watched in amazement as Bates prepared a dinner tray. He lined up the dishes just so, refolded the napkin a second time to make it perfect and added a small vase of purple and white flowers as a finishing touch. No, those were not actions of a conscientious man with simply his co-worker's best interests at heart. Those were actions of a man in love.

The wipers abruptly stopped. Tom reached over and turned the crank a few times. Without the ice to contend with, he could handle the crank without Sybil's assistance. After finishing, Tom's eyes casually perused the dashboard.

"Oh, Holy Hell!" Was he reading the petrol gage right? They were running extremely low on fuel. They had already gone through the three extra petrol cans that he had brought with them from Downton. He had thought that he might be able to make it to the outskirts of London before having to find a place to refuel at.

Damn it! He should have been paying more attention. Though he knew that driving for almost eight hours straight in the middle of the night in a snowstorm had something to do with it, Tom still felt terrible.

He was just going to have to find a place to stop. There had to be some sort of village or hamlet in the vicinity. He looked down at the petrol gage again. The arrow hovered dangerously close to "empty".

As if by providence, a sign appeared indicating they were approaching a village, Morgan's Crossing. Tom said a brief prayer of thanks. At least something was going their way tonight.

But as Tom pulled into Morgan's Crossing, all he could think was _there's bloody little for Morgan to cross_. He slowed the car to a crawl so he could take in his surroundings. Exactly five homes. No stores, no businesses. Not even a public house. And every home was dark. It appeared all of Morgan's Crossing's residents had retired for the evening.

"Great, just great," Tom muttered to himself. He looked again around the village and then at his passengers. They were all sound asleep. Maybe he should wake them and see what everyone else thought the best course of action would be.

As the car was about to pass the last house and leave Morgan's Crossing in its wake, Tom caught sight of a garage next to the home and within it a car. Tom breathed a sigh of relief. If there's a car, there's most likely some petrol lying around that they could borrow.

Tom pulled the car over and turned off the ignition. He surveyed his passengers again. No need to wake everyone he decided as he hopped out. He softly crunched his way through the snow to peek in the garage. There sat a Vauxhall roadster and on a nearby shelf were two petrol cans. All right, everything was going to be fine.

He hiked through the snow drifts to the front door. He knocked loudly. And waited . . . and waited . . . nothing. The wind gusted and blew snow right at the face. He pulled his coat collar up to shield himself. After another minute, he knocked again, louder this time. Only silence. Tom stepped back from the door and looked up at the modest two story cottage. Perhaps no one was home. It was New Year's; maybe the residents were visiting family. After giving the door one last bang, Tom decided to take matters into his own hands.

He checked the side door entrance to the garage. Locked. He went to the front and checked the actual garage door. It was also locked. He headed back around to the side door.

Though considered a crazy radical by many at Downton, both upstairs and down, Tom was actually a very law-abiding citizen. Never in his life had he ever committed an act that he could have been arrested for. That's not to say he didn't believe in civil disobedience. There were definitely some laws that were meant to be broken, but that didn't include theft . . . usually.

Tom readied his elbow against the pane of glass of the side door and cast one last furtive glance back at the house. With a quick jab of his elbow, the jangly sound of broken glass joined the wind's howl. Tom stuck his arm through and twisted the inside knob to allow him entrance.

Now having committed the deed, Tom felt nervous and had an incredible need to escape. He ran to the shelf and grabbed the gas cans, one under each arm, and began to sprint back to the c ar. As he neared his door, he thought he heard something, but it was hard to tell with his feet pounding through the snow and blood pounding in his ears.

"You there! Stop!" Came a voice from behind.

But Tom was too close to his destination to turn back now. About five feet from the car, he hit some ice and skidded to his car door.

"I said stop! Or I swear I'll shoot!"

The words only half resonated with Tom. His could hardly hear or comprehend over the crazed beating of his heart. This was definitely not good, but it was too late to change his course of action. He opened up his door and hurled the petrol cans across the front seat waking Sybil with a jolt.

"Tom, what in Heaven's name is . . .?"

As he jumped into the car and pulled the door shut in one fell swoop, a shot rang out.

Sybil shrieked as Tom started the ignition and hastily put the car into gear. Then the man began running towards them. It was now or never. Tom brought his foot down on the accelerator with all his might and swerved back on to the road.

"Was that a gunshot? Is someone shooting at us?"

The car hit some ice and began to skid uncontrollably down the road.

"Branson, what's going on?" Mary sat up now awake.

All of sudden the glass of the back window exploded. Tom tried to block out the cries of fear that filled the car. He had to concentrate on driving if they were going to get away unscathed. He continued to press the accelerator to the floor.

"Was anyone hit?" Tom anxiously asked as he righted the car's direction. "Sybil, Mary, Matthew. . .

From the mayhem of their chatter, he could tell that no one had been wounded.

"What the hell is going on?" Matthew wanted to know. "We're being shot at for Christ's sake! "

"Everyone, just get your heads down. I think we're almost out of here."

As she lowered herself, Sybil desperately asked, "Tom, why are they shooting?"

"Just get us the hell out of here!" Mary commanded as Matthew shoved her head down on to the seat between them.

Another shot rang out. It didn't hit the car and sounded as if it was quite a distance back. Ahead of them, the road began to bend into a wooded area. Morgan's Crossing quickly disappeared from sight. But Tom kept up his rate of speed. There was no way he wanted the only vehicle in the village to be able to catch them if its owner decided to give chase.

Sybil slowly unfurled her body from the crouched position she had taken. Her eyes were wide and her forehead still a mess. No, this trip would definitely not be an escapade to tell the in-laws about.

But if Tom was asked to do it all over again, he would, though preferably without the gunshots. He could think of many reasons why men take risks: duty, honor, or because they have been ordered to. Some just because they get a thrill out of it. But for Tom, friendship provided a strong motivation. He only hoped now that his actions had not been in vain. They had just a few precious hours to get to London.

* * *

><p>January 1st, 1920<p>

3:35am

Wandsworth Prison

Anna tip-toed with stealth past the two sleeping guards and opened the door to the Warden's office. Once inside, she softly closed the door, but jumped at the sound of John's voice.

"Are you all right?"

Anna turned around and gave her husband a small smile. She kept making herself smile. He needed to see it and she needed to do it. "Oh, I'm fine. Just had to make another visit to the lavatory, a curse of being pregnant." John smiled softly in return.

She put a hand against the wall and began to kick off her shoes. "I don't think Warden Cox would be too happy with his crack security guards if he could see them right now. "

"Oh. . . "

"Well, if you listen harder enough I think you can hear their snores."

"I guess the crippled prisoner and his nine month pregnant wife are not much of a threat to escape."

Anna puffed out a small laugh as she bent over to pull her second shoe off. "Guess not," she agreed as she drew herself back up, tossing her hair over her shoulders in the process.

She glanced over at John. When she had left for the lavatory, he had been asleep. But now she could tell he was very much awake. His eyes were heavy lidded, but not from sleep. They were pulsating with longing.

"Anna, you're a vision."

"I think your eyesight needs to be checked, John," she countered and self consciously looked down at her feet.

John sat up on the settee and gazed directly at her. "No, you're like a Grecian Goddess. . . Aphrodite, perhaps. You radiate grace and beauty. You're simply divine."

John paused. A haggard breath escaped. "What I wouldn't give to make love to you one more time."

Anna closed her eyes. She held her breath. If there was one trait that Anna prided herself on, it was her ability to be decisive. She knew herself well, what she believed in and what she deemed right and wrong. And she understood all decisions came with consequences. It may not always be easy to make a choice, but once Anna did, she had no problem standing by it.

Shuddering out a breath, mind made up, Anna turned around and walked back to the closed door. She softly turned the lock.

"Anna, what are you doing?"

"I think you know very well what I'm doing," Anna announced as she made her way back over to John.

"But the guards . . . we're not supposed to lock the door . . . they're just outside."

Anna let out an exasperated sigh. "What else can they do to us? You're leaving me at dawn. Please . . . love me one more time."

John pulled her down onto his lap. "I couldn't refuse you. Not ever."

He began a slow journey of kisses from her temple down her face and neck and lower. One of his hands snaked up her waist to slip under her blouse. John abruptly stopped.

Anna opened eyes. What was wrong? He looked worried. Don't let him change his mind. She needed this to be able to go on without him, to be able to let him go.

"What about the baby? Could this. . ." John gestured for lack of better words. ". . . harm the baby?"

Oh, how she loved him. No man could ever take his place.

In a cheeky voice, "Well, for a man of the world, you don't know too much about pregnant women."

"You got me there," John grinned back at her.

"No, my dear, our baby will not be harmed at all. In fact, I heard the old wives' tale that some couples remain . . . shall we say 'active'. . ." Anna heard a snort from John. "Oh, you hush. As I was saying, couples keep busy . . ." Another chuckle from John. ". . . because they think it helps the wife go into labor. Oh, stop teasing me."

John was still laughing a bit when he looked up at her. "God, I'm going to miss you."

It was as the air had been suddenly sucked out of the room. Reality returned with a vengeance, the wall clock ticked away. She knew he hadn't meant to ruin their light banter, but he had.

Anna disentangled herself from John and stood up. Slowly she started to unbutton her blouse. With each button, she could see John's eyes darken and breathing become shallower. She tossed her blouse onto the nearby armchair.

"You seem to be missing some garments?"

"Trips to the lavatory may be a curse of being pregnant, but not having to wear a corset is a definite benefit."

Anna moved to straddle John. Once in place, she pulled at the ties of camisole. With a simple shrug, it drifted off her shoulders.

John placed both his hands on her womb and surveyed her half-naked body.

"I was wrong. You're not Aphrodite. You're Rhea, the goddess of fertility. Never have I seen you as beautiful as you are right now carrying our child."

"John, I don't know what to say. . ."

"Then don't say anything."

His mouth came down on hers. There was nothing more she could say. As his hands began to travel up her body, she couldn't help wonder, how she could she feel this good. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as his hands reached her breasts and his mouth slide down her neck. How could she feel this good when the worst moment of her life was only hours away?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ** Thanks everyone for sticking with this story. . .almost there. Zero hour is just around the corner!

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

January 1st, 1920

5:40am

15 miles from London

Not a single word had been uttered in the last half hour. They were cold. They were tired. But they weren't done yet. It was as if they were soldiers on a mission where retreat was not an option. They just had to keep going.

Mary removed an arm from under the comforter she and Matthew shared. She aimlessly picked tiny pieces of glass from the cover. The wind blew loudly against extra blanket that they had jerry-rigged across the back window. It made conversation almost impossible.

Holding up her wrist to the moonlight, Mary checked the time. They had a little over two hours. That should be enough time to get there. Mary was already starting to recognize the area. She knew they were nearing London. But they still had to get to the prison, hopefully connect up with Bates' lawyer and make the case for the execution to be stopped. There were so many contingencies. What if they didn't take their claims seriously? What if they didn't have the correct appeals paperwork? What if they just didn't make it in time? Mary's nerves were a mess with worry.

She glanced over at Matthew. He was just staring out into the blackness. As if sensing her eyes upon him, Matthew turned and gave her a half smile. Mary's heart skipped a bit.

"Surviving?" Matthew raised his voice over the roar from outside.

Mary nodded. "I can't think of a nicer way to spend New Year's."

Matthew laughed. "Well, it definitely will be one we won't forget."

That's for sure. And even though Mary had said her words in jest, in some ways, this had been the best New Year's of her life. No, the reason for their journey was nothing to celebrate, nor was the discovery of Richard being a murderer. But for the first time in a long time, Mary felt new and alive. She wasn't bogged down by her marriage or social constraints. She was truly experiencing life, maybe for the first time. A small smile crept onto Mary's face. Yes, by God, she was living, so much that she was almost killed not once, but twice in course of a few hours. Never in her whole life did she, Mary Crawley, expect to be shot at! A ridiculous, yet proud thrill ran down her spine. She could not go back to the way she had been existing.

They entered the village of Lynton. This was the last train stop before London. The car slowed and was brought to a stop in front of a large public house.

"Why are we stopping?" She inquired.

Tom turned around in his seat so he could address all his passengers. "I was thinking, the ice hasn't been as bad on the roads for the last hour. Maybe this area didn't have as much damage to their telephone wires as we had at Downton. It might be worth taking the time to try and get a hold of Bates' lawyer or the prison or . . . I don't know, the police."

"That's a brilliant idea," Matthew concurred. "Hopefully, I can also scrounge up some paper and write up an appeal if we can't get a hold of his lawyer. "

"All right then. Let's go." Mary threw off the comforter. "The quicker we get in, the quicker we're back on the road."

As they climbed out, Mary found herself reevaluating her opinion of her brother-in-law. He was rather sharp and quick witted. Trying the telephone again hadn't even crossed her mind. Maybe he wouldn't be such a bad addition to the family. If only he and Sybil lived closer. She missed her little sister immensely.

Though it was nearing dawn, the pub was still open. Mary wasn't sure if it was normally open at this hour or if it was due to New Year's. Her experience with public houses had been limited to daytime hours. And even then, she could count the number of times she had been in one on the fingers of both hands. Two men sat at the bar, while another few occupied seats around a small table. A card game of some sort appeared to be taking place.

"Excuse me. . ." Matthew took the lead, approaching the barkeep. "Is there a public telephone which we might be able to use?"

"Sure, we got one." The barkeep took in the disheveled look of the group including Sybil's bloody forehead. "Costs two shillings a call. It's set up in the back room."

Matthew clapped his hands together. "Perfect. We'd really like to make a call right now. It's a bit of an emergency."

"Becky! Got some folks that want to use the blower. Show them where it's at."

"Sod off, Jim! You don't have to holler at me." A rather large and haggard woman came out from the kitchen behind the bar. "So you want to use the telephone?"

"Yes, Ma'am. If you could kindly show us where it's at, we would be forever in your gratitude," Matthew answered most politely. Mary had to bit her cheek to keep from giggling. Somehow she doubted if Becky was used to being addressed in such a chivalrous manner.

"Well, now. Nice to see a gentleman for a change," the barmaid noted while tossing a scowl at her boss. "Follow me, it's right through here. Now how many calls were you thinkin' on makin'?"

As they made their way down a hallway to a back room, Sybil noticed the ladies' lavatory. "I'm going to clean up a bit. You don't need me to make the calls anyway."

As Matthew made conversation with Becky explaining their need to make several calls, Mary walked next to Tom.

"Tom, I was thinking. The future doesn't look very promising for my husband."

Tom looked over at Mary, "I'd say you're probably right. I can't see this ending well for him, no matter how much money and power he wields."

"If I end up divorcing him . . .," Mary struggled on the words. It was the first time she had voiced them aloud. ". . . and he ends up in prison. Control of the paper will be passed to me and I was thinking. . ."

They stopped just inside the doorway as Becky was showing Matthew the desk where the telephone was located and settling up the cost.

"Go on. . ," Tom prompted.

"Well, I might need someone with journalistic experience to keep the papers afloat. And I worry about trusting people within who might hold loyalties to Richard. Perhaps you might be interested in helping me . . . I know you probably want to stay in Ireland, but. . "

"You do know that I have only been working in the business for less than one year?"

Mary nodded. "Yes, I know. But what I need now is someone I can trust more than I need someone with years of experience. And Tom, I trust you."

He blinked a few times before a small smile ghosted his lips. She was sure he never had expected those words to come out of her mouth.

"I'll think on it, My Lady," he said with a now full smile. "I have to talk with Sybil before deciding anything."

"Yes, of course, you do. Take your time, there's no hurry."

Matthew finished paying Becky. "All right, who do we call first?"

Mary took a deep breath, "I think we should start with. . ."

* * *

><p>January 1st, 1920<p>

6:05am

Wandsworth Prison

John ran a hand through his hair as he paced around the Warden's office. He found much to his chagrin that it trembled. He couldn't help it; he was frightened.

He knew it was in man's inherent nature to be afraid of the unknown, that's why religion was such a comfort to the masses. It offered an answer to what lay beyond death. John shook his head. Perhaps he was too stubborn or too stupid, but he just couldn't buy into the existence of an afterlife sight unseen. It didn't matter whether it was Heaven, Hell, Valhalla or Nirvana. They all served the same purpose, to quell man's fear of death and to console the loved ones left behind.

And he would be leaving her behind. John looked over at Anna curled up on the settee in the fetal position, her belly protruding. Her small hands rested beneath her face as if in prayer. Truly angelic. It still boggled his mind that a woman so smart, so caring, so vivacious . . . so right choose to love him. It almost made him believe in God.

Anna shifted in her sleep, adjusting her body a bit to find a little more comfort. At least, she was able to sleep. John could tell she was tired. She had tried to maintain a cheery disposition all evening, but he knew much of it was a façade. Her smiles, real or otherwise, couldn't hide the black circles around her eyes or gauntness of her face. She may have gained weight around the middle, but he could tell that she actually had lost weight in her face. She could do for a few more hours of slumber.

John flopped into the armchair. If only John could find rest as Anna did. After making love, she had quickly fallen into a peaceful sleep upon his chest. He wished that he too could have just shut his eyes and joined her. They could have slept entangled in each other's arms until dawn, a beautiful last few hours. But not only did John's knee begin to throb insufferably, but once again he was plagued with insomnia, a condition he had wrestled with his entire life.

He wasn't sure what triggered it. Most evening when he climbed into bed, no matter how exhausted, sleep escaped him. It's not that he didn't try to sleep, he did. But he just kept thinking about everything and nothing, matters of grave importance and little consequence. Even though his body screamed for rest, he just couldn't turn his mind off.

This had been the case for as long as John could remember. When he was a small child sharing a room with his two older brothers, he drove them mad with his incessant chatter and running about. Learning to read was a blessing. All during his school years, he would read late into the night by light of a single candle. He immersed himself in the worlds of Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe and King Arthur. At the time, he thought himself lucky that he was able to function on such little sleep, the more he was able to get out of life.

He still saw his sleepless state as an advantage during his time in Africa. The Boers were notorious for evening raids. At least, John reasoned he wouldn't die asleep in his bed.

But the benefits of his insomnia started to wane after being shot. Now an excruciating pain accompanied his sleepless nights making it hard to read, to concentrate on anything except the throbbing of his knee. Overtime, John turned to the bottle, to just be able to get any sleep at all. It did such a phenomenal job of blocking not only the pain, but also his miserable life. He wasn't falling asleep as much as he was passing out each night.

John pulled up his pant leg and massaged his knee trying to subdue some of the ache. God, it hurt like hell tonight. Couldn't he be spared for one evening, especially this evening?

He looked up at the clock. 6:12am. It'd be easier if he could just sleep. But as much as he'd like to blame his insomnia and his knee, John knew his fears of dawn were really keeping him awake.

Over the last nine months, John had hours and hours to contemplate his end. Insomnia proved especially brutal in prison. Once the lights went out, there was no talking, no reading, no writing. Only darkness. And after all those months, he still hadn't come to any conclusions except that men who claimed to not be afraid of death were liars.

John was very much afraid. He was scared of simply ceasing to exist. That there wasn't anything more. You have one shot at living, at being. And when it was over, that's all there was. He would be gone but the world would move on. Anna would move on.

Like all good skeptics, an agnostic thread flowed through him. He would love for Heaven to be a reality. He would rejoice in the existence of such a place where there was no suffering, no sorrow, only peace and love. A place where he could be joined with Anna forever.

But as much as he wanted to believe, he just couldn't. No, even after months of reflecting in his cramped cell, he still saw death as a void. His life would become an empty space in time.

John got up and limped to a row of windows. The night sky was still an inky black. But it would soon be changing. He leaned his head against the cool glass.

A good night's sleep. That's what he wanted death to resemble. After so much of his life not being able to sleep soundly, it would be somehow fitting for it to end with him being able to sleep for eternity.

A sharp ring startled John. John scrambled for the Warden's telephone. He quickly picked up the receiver to stop the ringing and placed it gently down on the desk. He felt slightly bad for picking up the receiver and not answering, but he seriously doubted Warden Cox would appreciate a prisoner playing secretary.

More importantly, he couldn't risk waking Anna. She needed the rest. It might be a long time before sleep comes this easily again for her. A very long time.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **So our stories finally converge! Just in case you're interested, dawn was at 8:06am in London on January 1st, 1920. Also, Wandsworth prison is an actual prison in London. It is one of the largest in the UK and is still in use. From maps, it does appear to be located on Trinity Road. Of course, all this info was collected on Wikipedia, so take it with a grain of salt._

_Thanks again for everyone keeping with this saga! Your reviews and kind words are very much appreciated. Enjoy. . ._

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

January 1st, 1920

7:15am

Streets of London

"Are you sure Trumble is the street the prison is on?" Tom anxiously looked back at Mary.

"I think so."

"You think so or you know so?" Tom demanded.

"I think so, all right!" Mary snapped back. "Oh, I don't know for sure. I've only been by once and it was last summer. Higgins dropped off Anna to see Bates on our way to visit some friends in Hampstead."

"That's just fantastic. I thought you knew where it was."

Mary brought her hands to her head and rubbed her temples. Think. She needed to concentrate. What was the name of the road? "I know it's in the southwest part of the city and I'm almost a hundred percent certain it starts with a T."

Mary turned her frustration on Tom. "You're the one who's driven in the city before; don't you know where it's at?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but your family never gave me reason to swing by the nick."

"Argh, you two, just stop it!" Sybil ordered and looked back at her cousin. "Matthew, what about you? Did you ever visit Wandsworth for court?"

Matthew looked up from the appeals papers he was attempting to draw up, a difficult task with the car in motion. "I'm sorry, Sybil, but I've never practiced in London. And remember I'm a patent lawyer. I've never actually represented a client in a criminal case . . . well, not until now.

"And you won't get to this morning either unless we can find the damn prison," Tom complained. "I don't see a Trumble street anywhere."

"Maybe we all just need to look harder," Mary retorted tears brimming. God, if they couldn't find the prison, it would be all her fault…again.

"Enough of this. Stop the car, Tom." As the car slowed to the side of the street, Sybil jumped out and ran back down half a block.

"What is she doing?" Worry filled Tom's voice.

Mary pulled back part of the blanket that covered the back window. She could just make out her sister talking with another person, a large man silhouetted by the street lamp.

"I don't know. She's speaking to some man."

Tom started to open his door. "This isn't the best neighborhood. I'm going to. . ."

"Wait, here she comes."

Sybil ran back to the car slipping a bit on the icy brick of the sidewalk. "Trinity," Sybil puffed out of breath. "The constable said Wandsworth is located on Trinity Road."

"That's not far from here." Tom confirmed before placing his hands on either side of his wife's head and kissing her good and hard. "That was brilliant, my dear. Brilliant!"

As Tom pulled the car back onto the street, Mary noted dryly, "I knew it started with T."

January 1st, 1920

7:44am

Wandsworth Prison

"Boat."

"Water."

"Rain."

Anna closed her eyes to let John's answer flow over her, so she could savor the timbre of his voice, commit it to memory. She had awoken a half hour ago to him sitting on the coffee table lightly stroking her hair. She immediately looked up at the clock and out the window. She could tell the first stirrings of predawn were beginning to light the night sky. A current of anger ran through her. How dare he let her sleep so long? How could he allow their precious time to be wasted? But as quick as her anger appeared, it fled. It served no purpose. She wouldn't let anything taint their last moments.

Now she lay with her head in his lap looking up into his face. One large hand lay on her belly while his other caressed her scalp. They were engaged in a game of word association. Anna was not even sure how they decided upon it, but it was the perfect activity. No big discussions or deep thoughts necessary. But they could still talk, banter. They were past saying anything of consequence. Now all they wanted was to hear the other's voice for as long as they had left.

"Spring," Anna supplied.

"Flowers."

"My favorite kind . . . Daisies"

"Let's see," John contemplated, "Well, our Daisy at Downton reminds me of . . . a mouse."

"You know, John, she's not as quiet and scared as she used to. She's beginning to find her place with Mrs. Patmore."

"Good for her. I always thought her a sweet girl. Your turn . . . I said mouse."

"Rat."

John rolled his eyes and grinned down at her. "Thomas."

Anna giggled, "That fits . . . all right, Thomas . . . smoking."

John paused before quietly answering, "Courtyard."

Who would have thought that a small courtyard that led to the servant's entrance could hold such a special place in her heart? It wasn't pretty, largely filled with crates and excess materials. It sometimes smelled of the kitchen and always reeked of cigarettes. But it was their place. It would always be their place even if neither of them were at Downton. It was where they first kissed and where he first said he loved her. A future was planned there, one that would never come to fruition.

"Lovely . . . The courtyard, it's lovely." Anna struggled with the words. Even though they were playing a silly game that required very little thinking, it was getting harder and harder not to think about what was going to happen in a matter of minutes.

"Wife," John smiled a sad smile down at Anna. "Never was there a lovelier one."

Anna closed her eyes and tried to compose herself. Her lower lip trembled. She opened her eyes and reached up to touch his cheek. "Proud. I want you to know, John Bates, I have never been prouder to be your wife than I am at this moment.

A soft knock echoed through the room. The end was quickly approaching.

Warden Cox entered the room. He looked down at his shoes and took a deep breath before addressing his prisoner. "Bates, it's almost dawn."

Anna sat up. She felt light-headed. John steadied her and placed her hands in his.

"Sir, may I have a few moments with my wife?" He asked in a raw voice.

"Of course." Warden Cox shuffled back to the doorway to give them some privacy.

John stood up and held out a hand to help Anna up. She wanted to resist. She wanted to stall, to do anything to stop this horrible sequence of events from unfolding. But almost against her will, her hand slipped into his. She felt a shudder. She wasn't sure if it was from him or her. He walked her away from the coffee table to the middle of the office where there was more space. Then with some effort and discomfort John kneeled in front her.

He braced himself with his hands on her hips and laid his head on her womb. Dear God, he was saying goodbye to their child. She brought her hands up to her face partly to hide the incredible scene in front of her, partly because she didn't know what to do with them. The front of her blouse became damp from his tears. She shook her head and bit her lip. This was really happening. As much as she had prepared herself for this moment, she wasn't truly ready. She couldn't say goodbye. Not yet.

John reached up and brought her hands down. He squeezed them. Anna reached down and helped him up. She tried to speak, but no words could be formed.

"Anna," John gently cupped her face with both hands. "Remember, I have absolute faith in you. Let our child know that I loved her. . . " John attempted a smile but faltered. ". . . or him as much as I loved you."

Her vision blurred with tears that freely flowed over his hands and down her neck. She opened her mouth to speak again, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"And Anna . . . oh, how I've loved you. From that first moment in the servant's hall, I knew. . ." John struggled, looked away as a tear coursed down first one cheek, then the other. "I just knew you would own my heart."

Anna brought her hands to his face and staunched the tears with her fingers. "And you mine," she echoed finally finding her voice.

John sniffed and tried to compose himself. He leaned his forehead down to rest upon hers. "Our hearts are forever tied." He placed his hand on Anna's heart and brought her hand to his. "So even when only one beats. . ." Anna closed her eyes and shook her head again.

"When only one beats. . ." John tried again. ". . . something of the other lives on. I will still be there for our child. And my love will always exist for you . . ." John lightly tapped her chest. ". . . in here."

That was it. Anna couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed John around the neck and hugged him to her with sinking desperation.

"No, John. No! You can't go! Don't leave me! " Her pleas swallowed by the fabric of his shirt.

John simply held her. That's all he could offer her. Her cries turned to whispered words against the crook of his neck.

"I love you so much, John. I love you. I love you. I love you, " she repeated in a litany. She had to make sure he knew.

Warden Cox discreetly coughed, "It's time." Anna increased her hold almost tipping them both over. She couldn't let them take him away. "A chaplain is available if you'd like one to accompany you. And Mrs. Bates can also be present if you. . ..

Anna stomach began to roll. The thought of watching her husband die before her very eyes made her want to retch. She couldn't do it. She wasn't that strong . . . But she had to be. John needed her and she would not leave him to face the end alone.

"No. Absolutely not," John's voice broke through. "I don't want her there."

Twin feelings of relief and hurt rushed through Anna. He didn't want her there? It was her place to be there, at his side until the end.

"But John," she began.

John loosened her grip on him and pulled back so he could look her in the eye. "No, Anna. I don't want the last time you see me to be with a noose around my neck."

"But I can't let you go alone. . ."

"Yes, you can and you will. Let this be my last request."

Anna looked down and nodded. What else could she say? She'd never known a more decent, more honorable man. Even at the end, his concern was not for himself, but for her, to save her from additional pain.

"Bates. . ." Warden Cox prompted.

John briefly looked at the doorway. She could see fear flicker in his eyes when he turned back to her.

He opened up his arms for one final embrace. This time Anna fell into them softly without clawing or clutching. Her fight was gone, sad acceptance taking its place. She did not want to miss one last chance to revel in John: his body, his smell, his strength, his being.

As if by unspoken mutual consent, they pulled apart just enough so he could dip his head and ever so sweetly kiss her farewell.

John pulled back slightly, their noses still touching. Anna gathered her strength before speaking.

"I won't say goodbye John, because I know we'll see each other again."

He pulled back even further and gave her one of those half smiles that she always loved so much, only this time it cracked her heart wide open.

"Well. . .until then."

John brought one hand up to her hair and tucked it behind her ear. Then he proceeded to disentangle himself completely from her touch and her life. He slowly turned and walked over to the Warden.

"I'm ready," John declared as he looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met. One closing communiqué.

Anna eyelids fluttered shut as Warden Cox led him away. She couldn't watch. Maybe it was childish, but watching him take step after step away from her only intensified the agony. He was gone. She didn't need to see his actual trek away from her.

Her legs began to buckle. The weariness of her body set in. She scrambled for the nearby armchair and sank into it. Anna leaned her head back against the chair's rough upholstery and watched as the first rays of sunlight began to appear. It was a beautiful site. She couldn't remember the last time she had taken the time to sit and watch a sunrise. How could something so wrong, so terrible being taking place with such a picturesque backdrop? It didn't make sense.

A commotion in the halfway drew Anna's eyes from the window. She heard the sound of shoes running through the tile hallway. No, not running , pounding was more like it. As the din got closer, she could make out voices accompanying the stampede.

"Come on, the guard said the gallows are this way. Hurry now!" shouted an unseen male voice. It had an extremely familiar lilt to it, as if she heard it on a regular basis.

"You two, go ahead. We'll catch up," responded an equally familiar female voice.

Then to Anna's utter amazement, Tom Branson and Matthew Crawley sprinted past the open door of the Warden's office. What in Heaven's name was going on? Did she really see them or did she just imagine it?

Before she had a chance to reflect, Lady Mary also ran by seemingly in hot pursuit of the men and closely followed by her sister. Something was happening. She knew it had to do with John.

"Mary. . .Sybil!"

She heard a slowing of steps.

"Anna?" cried a familiar voice.

Anna was halfway across the room when the sisters appeared in the doorway.

"What is it?" Anna looked from one to the other. "It's about John, isn't it? What's going on?"

"He's not guilty," Mary began.

"Of course he's not," Anna interjected.

"Yes, but we have new evidence. A confession from the killer."

Anna struggled with Mary's words. There was new evidence? They found the real killer and he confessed? That meant. . .John didn't have to. . .Dear God. . .

"Tom and Matthew went ahead," Sybil explained. "We couldn't get a hold of Bates' lawyer, but Matthew has drawn up preliminary appeal papers. It should be enough to . . ."

_Stop the execution!_

Hope began to germinate in Anna. John was not lost to her yet. Without knowing where exactly she was going, Anna left the office at a full run. Her gait was unbalanced and she waddled more than ran, but she had to get there. She could hear Mary and Sybil coming up quick behind her.

The corridor turned and Anna slipped a bit in her stocking feet as she went around the corner. Mary and Sybil had now caught up with her. At the far end, she could see Tom and Matthew yelling and pounding on a metal door. They had reached the entrance to the courtyard gallows.

_Please let them in_, she prayed. She knew if they could just get to Warden Cox, John would be saved. The Warden would hear them out. She was sure of it. He took upholding justice very seriously. He would not hang an innocent man if new evidence presented itself.

She heard the clank of metal as the courtyard door opened. The men rushed through. A gust of crisp winter air traveled down the hall sending a shiver down Anna's back.

"Wait!"

"You've got to stop!"

Above Tom and Matthew's shouts, Anna heard the sickening sound of wood creaking and a trap door opening, followed by the reverberation of the door hitting the side of the gallows.

Everything stopped for Anna: her feet, her breathe, her mind and most assuredly her heart. She fell back against the cool plaster of the prison wall. A primal scream echoed through the corridor. Anna barely registered the shriek coming from her own lungs. The corridor began to spin. She vaguely made out Mary and Sybil rushing to her side. She slowly slid down the wall as blackness began to fill her vision. Maybe she was dying too? Oh, how she wanted to.

As she fainted into the sisters' arms, Anna mumbled a second prayer, "Let me join him. . ."

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><p><em><strong>AN:** Things are not all as they seem for John and Anna. . .please stick with me, readers! I'm not a sadist, really I am not! _


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: **__Sorry to keep John's fate in the balance for so long! Enjoy. . ._

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

January 1st, 1920

8:28am

Wandsworth Prison

"Anna. . .Anna"

She heard his voice. It was far away, echoing down a dark and empty tunnel. He was beckoning her to follow him.

"Anna. . .Love, can you hear me?"

Yes. . .And she was coming. God had answered her prayer and was letting her join him. She never imagined dying would be so easy. But now she could be with him forever.

"Sybil, is she going to be all right?" A female voice was added to John's. How odd.

"Yes, she's fine. . .I think." Another woman's voice answered nervously. The voices were so familiar, yet she couldn't place them. "Perhaps we could find a cool washcloth or a glass of water?"

Anna heard muttering of voices and heels upon a wood floor. Had she died? Then she felt large fingers take hold of her small hands. A thumb ever so softly stroked the top of one hand over and over.

"Anna, please wake up." There was his voice again. She tried to talk, tried to surface out of the darkness that anchored her down. She willed any part of her body to move.

"I think she's coming around."

"Here take this."

Coldness stung her forehead and water dripped down the side of her head. The voices were becoming clearer, closer, less tinny. Where was she? Where was he? She had to find him.

"Anna, I'm right here. Come back to me." As always, he was right where she needed him to be.

White. That's all she saw when her eyelids fluttered open. Maybe, she was in Heaven after all. As her eyes began to focus, she heard multiple sighs of relief and muted cries of joy. Her hands received a warm squeeze. She could now make out a very earthly white ceiling complete with a few cobwebs in the corner. No, definitely not Heaven. She hadn't died. But had he?

The thought spurred panic within her. She tried to sit up only to find herself being gently pushed back down to the settee.

"Relax, Anna. Please, lie back down."

Anna turned her head and that's when she saw him; alive and sitting on the coffee table right next to her. Was she dreaming? She knew by the furniture they were back in the Warden's office. She surveyed the room for the first time since gaining consciousness. To her amazement, she saw Lady Sybil standing next to John with a glass of water in her hands. And behind her Lady Mary clutched Matthew Crawley's arm. Her eyes suspiciously wet. Tom Branson and Warden Cox hovered close by.

"John. . ." she managed to croak out.

"It's going to be all right, love."

"Perhaps some water might help," Sybil offered.

Anna felt his warm gaze upon her. "Do you think you can sit up?"

She nodded and leaned forward.

"Slowly Anna," His voice was rich with concern. John maneuvered himself onto the settee where once seated he helped her into a sitting position next to him.

Sybil handed over the glass from which Anna drank greedily. It helped clear her senses and sharpen her memory.

"Better?" Asked John as he took the empty glass from her and set it aside.

Anna nodded again and turned to face him. It was all coming back to her. Their goodbye, the sisters' arrival, her sprint down the long corridor and . . . . the sound of his death.

She shook her head in disbelief. "You're alive, John. How? I heard the gallows door drop. I heard it. I know I heard it. " Anna reached up and ran her hand down John's unshaven face and neck to reconcile her memory with the living proof in front of her. John put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her up against his side.

"It wasn't me," John explained with a slight catch in his throat. He took a deep breath and composed himself before continuing. "They were testing the gallows to make sure they functioned properly. By miracle of miracles, Mr. Crawley and Branson arrived before I even had the opportunity to climb the steps up."

Anna looked up briefly at Matthew and Branson. She was having a hard time digesting all of the information. She glanced out the window. The sun was brightly shining signifying a new day. It was clearly after dawn. She turned back to John and gripped his hands.

"It's past dawn," she whispered. "John, it's past dawn."

"I know and what a beautiful morning it is." She heard his voice break a bit as he pulled her even closer to him and kissed the top of her head.

She still did not have a full grasp of what had happened or what was going on currently. Her state of confusion must have shown. Warden Cox stepped forward.

"Let me see if I can explain." With a brief nod from Anna, he continued. "Usually when a hanging is scheduled I have my men test the gallows the day prior to make sure that everything, from the trap door to the rope, is in working order. The last thing I want is a malfunction and have some poor soul suffer more than necessary."

A shiver ran down Anna's back. That poor soul could have very easily been her husband. She squeezed John's hands even harder to reassure herself that he really was sitting next to her.

"Only yesterday afternoon, a rather large brawl broke out among some of the inmates and all my men were called to assist in breaking it up and restoring the peace. Needless to say, the gallows were forgotten and left unchecked. I didn't realize this until your husband and I arrived in the courtyard this morning. Normally, I would never have an inmate watch the gallows being tested . . . I don't know . . . that just seems cruel, but in this case I am glad."

The Warden spared a gruff smile for Anna. "It seems the delay saved his life. It allowed your friends to arrive with the appeal and new evidence."

"Is this for real?" Anna gulped out and looked around the room at everyone ending with John.

"Yes, Anna. Trust me, I've never had a more real night in my life," Mary asserted.

At both Anna and John's bewildered looks, Tom filled in, "We had to drive all night from Downton because the telephone wires were down due to the storm. And we ran into . . . shall we say, a bit of trouble here and there."

"I call crashing a car, breaking and entering, and being shot at more than 'a bit'!" Mary retorted.

"You were shot at?" John asked in surprise.

"You broke in somewhere?" the Warden wanted to know.

Matthew shook his head, "That's not important now."

An uneven breath shook out of Anna followed by a giddy laugh. She was starting to absorb it all. Dear God, how close she had been to losing him. If the prison fight hadn't broken out . . . If the guards had remembered to check the gallows . . . If their rescuers had been injured. . . If their goodbye had been shorter . . . If Matthew and Branson ran slower. So many contingencies, so many opportunities for John to have perished.

Suddenly Anna couldn't get a full breath. It was all too much, all too real. She couldn't help it. Her breathing stuttered as panic set in and she began to hyperventilate. She had almost lost him. Only by remarkable chance did he sit beside her.

"Bates. . ."

As her body quaked from trying to catch a single breath, Anna caught Sybil mouthing something to John. He nodded back in agreement.

"Anna, you've got to calm down." John grabbed her shoulders gently and turned her to face him. "You don't want to get too upset and go into labor. Come now, you've got to think about our baby."

Hearing the word "our" spoken in conjunction with "baby" made Anna close her eyes and concentrate. John was right, she needed to calm down. She willed herself to take one breath, then another. In and out. In and out.

"That's it, my dear." John encouraged as he rubbed her back. Her breathing began to stabilize.

Once more in control, Anna took one smooth, deep breath and asked, "You said there's new evidence. What is it? And what happens next?"

Mary nervously looked at Matthew and Sybil before addressing Anna. "Well, you see, the killer confessed to me."

Mary knew the killer? He confessed to her? It didn't seem real.

"In addition to the confession, testimony and evidence from the trial appears to also have been corrupted," Matthew added. "We have an excellent foundation for the conviction to be overturned."

"So, who is the killer?"

Mary bowed her head and wrung her hands a bit. After a few seconds, she looked up with a new found smile plastered on her face. "We'll go into details once we get you back to Grantham House and you've had a good rest. You need it." She paused. "We all need it."

Anna still wanted to know more. But John's hands found hers and brought her attention back to him.

"Lady Mary is right. You need to go back and rest." Obviously, he knew the whole story too.

"But what happens to you?"

"Actually, Mrs. Bates, it's about time that I escort your husband back to his cell."

At the Warden's pronouncement, fear welled up in Anna again. It didn't matter if they had "an excellent foundation" for the conviction being overturned. It didn't matter if the real killer, whoever that may be, had confessed. John was being taken away from her again and it scared her.

"No, don't take him away!" Anna clutched at John.

John unwound her fingers from the cotton of his shirt. "Anna, I'll be just fine."

"But. .."

"Mrs. Bates," Warden Cox once again interjected. "You have my word that nothing will happen to your husband until every avenue of justice has been exhausted. And even then, you will be duly notified to what happens next. Nothing will occur without your knowledge. Do you understand me?"

Kind eyes peered out from his craggy old face. Yes, Warden Cox was very much a man of his word. He would not allow anything to happen to John without due process.

"Yes, sir," she sheepishly deferred.

"Now would you kindly take the advice of your husband and friends and get back home. I'm not too keen on babies being born in my office."

"All right," she agreed and turned to John.

And that's when she saw it, something she hadn't seen for an incredibly long time. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time. Maybe not since before Vera came careening into their lives, back when she and John had dared to make plans.

Hope. It radiated from John's eyes. A small, but telling, smile edged his mouth.

"It's all going to work out, isn't it?"

John nodded, bringing a hand to her cheek. "I think so. All I know is we've been given a second chance and I won't let it be in vain. I promise you, I will fight with every fiber of my body for our future. . .I won't give up this time. You can count on that."

His voice was strong, filled with a resolution that Anna had always longed to hear. Finally, he was willing to stand up and battle for her, for their child, for their life together, no holds barred.

Despite the room's audience, Anna couldn't resist leaning in and enthusiastically kissing her husband. She was so proud of him. And after letting their lips linger for a few seconds, John pulled her into a hard embrace burying his face in her hair.

He whispered into her ear, "We will have the life we always dreamed of having."

At that, he pulled away and stood up. Anna felt her face begin to redden when she looked up to discover that all eyes had been on them. Branson was grinning like he swallowed a canary as he held Sybil against him. She wiped tears from her eyes. And then there was Mary. She didn't even attempt to brush away her tears. They streamed down her face falling onto her coat. She still had Matthew's arm in a vice grip.

For the second time in little over an hour, John told the Warden, "I'm ready."

As he made his way to the door, Anna briefly lowered her head summoning the courage to watch him leave her side once again. Her gaze fell upon the pile of books sitting on the floor.

"Wait!" Anna reached down, picked up her prize and hauled her unwieldy body off the settee. John slowly pivoted as she bustled across the room.

"Here, John." Anna handed him the black market copy of _The Rainbow_. "You go ahead and start it, but. . .but we'll finish it together."

His eyes crinkled as her heart turned over with love for him.

This time when John left the Warden's office, Anna kept her eyes open. She could watch him leave. For she knew he would be coming back to her. . .he promised.

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><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Finally turning a corner. Still have a few loose ends to tie up before we see what the future holds for John and Anna. . ._


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: **Tying up the first of many loose ends. . ._

_Thanks so much for keeping with Anna and John's plight. The end is within sight! And I truly do appreciate folks taking the time to read and review! :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

January 4th, 1920

9:03pm

Grantham House, London

"Anna, it's really not necessary. While you're staying at Grantham house, you're our guest."

Anna just made a face and continued braiding Mary's hair for bed. "But I want to."

As she tied the end with a ribbon, Anna met Mary's eyes in the dressing mirror. "Plus, it makes me feel useful."

Mary had noted her frustration earlier in the day when Anna's attempts to help Mrs. Gordon, the housekeeper, had been politely but firmly rebuffed. Anna was not familiar with idle time. She was used to having her hours filled with work, a concept foreign to Mary. Yet, when you scratched the surface, Mary could tell that Anna's desire to pitch in with chores was really driven by a greater need to take her mind off her husband's still uncertain plight.

"So, how is Bates fairing?"

She knew Anna had been to see him this afternoon, as she had been every afternoon since that tumultuous New Year's morning. Warden Cox was being exceptionally kind allowing her daily visits and not making her wait for the weekly regularly scheduled prison-wide visits.

Anna smiled, "Quite well, actually. There's just a new air about him. I can see it in his eyes, the way he talks . . . even how he simply sits. He's confident . . . optimistic about the future. It's such a change. It takes . . ."

"Takes what?" Mary prompted.

"It takes the burden off my shoulders a bit."

"How so?"

"Ever since John's arrest, I was the one who always had to buoy our spirits, keep a smile upon my face, remind him of the future that could be ours."

Mary perplexed, turned around in her seat to face Anna. "Didn't he want that too?"

"Please don't read too much into what I'm saying, My Lady. Yes, of course, he wanted the same. It's just that he's had a hard time believing that he deserved that future. "

"Why ever not?"

Anna sighed and took a seat next to Mary on a second dressing table stool. "He felt he made a lot of mistakes in the past, including but not limited to his first marriage. No matter how much he wanted a future for us, there was always a part of him that needed to atone for the past. He saw himself as not worthy of such happiness. "

"That's rather sad." But Mary could relate. Some days her mistakes suffocated her. She had a dire need to make amends, to set everything right. She only hoped that bringing Richard to justice and seeing Bates released might be enough to atone for her own checkered past.

"I agree. . . But that's all changed." Anna's smile reappeared. "I suppose being on the brink of death has its advantages. It forced him to revaluate his outlook on life. And he finally came to the conclusion that he is worthy of our love, our family, our future. More importantly, he's willingly to stand up for it."

"Well, hopefully it won't be too much of a fight. Matthew tagged along with Bates's lawyer when he visited him this morning. He's certain that the conviction can be overturned."

"Yes, John told me about their visit. The new evidence and depositions are really heartening. For the first time, I think John believes he might get a fair hearing."

"Well, if Matthew and Papa have their way, justice will be had this time around."

It did appear that the chips were falling into place for a successful appeal. Matthew had filled Mary in on the latest details of the case when he arrived back at Grantham House for lunch. Not only did they have the deposition of Marigold Shore recanting her trial testimony, they also now had the depositions of Mary, Sybil, Tom and Matthew, each bearing witness to Richard's confession to Vera's murder.

And that hadn't been easy for Mary to make. Matthew escorted her down to Mr. Cameron's office the day after New Year's to give her statement. It was one thing to admit in the deepest depths of your heart that you were a fool, that you had been so stupid as to marry someone like Richard. But it was an entirely different affair, to sit down with a stranger and describe in detail how your husband is a murderer. But she was not backing down now. She had to see this through. She needed that atonement.

Once the depositions were in place, Mr. Cameron was able to push for a court date to hear the appeal to overturn the conviction. It had been set for a week from today. Also since Richard had confessed to buying off law enforcement and court officials, her father had used his influence to have case reopened for investigation by the London Police. Even though he was still in bed recovering from his heart attack, Papa could be a force to be reckoned with when he wanted to be.

And to everyone's surprise, Warden Cox also weighed into the fray contacting old associates he knew within the police department to make sure a fair and proper inquiry took place. The investigation was already off to a good start. The detectives who had originally been tasked with the case were reassigned to it. Even more fortuitous, the two men had been suspicious of the reasons behind their removal from the case and had saved all the evidence they gathered including Vera's diary and Richard's threatening letter even though they had been told to destroy it by corrupt officials higher up the chain of command. This afternoon, they were paying Richard a visit at Haxby. Oh, how Mary would like to be a fly on the wall for that questioning.

"I'm still a ball of nerves," Anna confided. "As much as I know everything seems to be going our way, I am so worried about the appeal. What if. . ." Anna swallowed. "What if . . . they don't see it the way we all do? What if Sir Richard still has influence we don't know about? What if. . ."

Mary took hold of Anna's hands that were resting on her bulging belly. "Don't even think that. But if that does happen, then we will appeal again, and again, and again until he is found not guilty. No matter how long it takes, the Crawleys will be there for you and Bates. You have my promise."

Anna snaked a hand from Mary's loose grip to wipe at her eyes and looked up and gave Mary a watery smile. "Oh, how I wish a day could go by without me crying like a fountain."

Mary returned her smile. It was incredibly gratifying to help a friend. Sometimes Mary thought Anna was the only true friend she had ever had in life. The sad reality was they could never publicly be bosom buddies because of their different statuses. Mary was so sick living by society's standards. Where had it gotten her? Married to Richard? Living an abysmal life?

"I don't know how we'll ever be able to repay your family's kindness. Everything you've done . . . your father . . . Mr. Crawley . . . it's all so . . . so. . ." Anna shook her head unable to find the words. "For Heaven's sake, you were shot at!"

Mary chuckled at the reminder of the New Year's escapade. "By the way, we're leaving out some of the more adventurous parts of that trip when it comes to my father. Branson's having a hard enough time fitting in with the family. I'm not sure he'd ever be allowed through the doors of Downton if Papa found out he almost got us shot up."

Anna muffled a laugh within her hands. "Well, you better get that back window fixed up. I know it's not funny, really, but the thought of Branson sneaking around like a cat burglar and then racing away from the scene of the crime amid gunfire. . ."

"Oh no, it really is funny." Mary bent over as laughter consumed her. "And did I tell you about the pub we stopped at to make a telephone call at?"

Anna, giggling too much to answer, just shook her head.

"Well, we show up around five in the morning looking a mess, all tired and disheveled. Sybil had blood all over her forehead, for God's sake! Matthew, all prim and proper, asks about using the telephone. The crude bartender begins screaming at this rather . . . how should I say this . . . portly barmaid who screamed right back at him. Oh, you should have seen the look. . ."

"Excuse me, My Lady."

Mary broke off telling her tale to look up at Mrs. Gordon who stood in the doorway. "Yes?"

"There's an urgent call from Haxby."

Richard. The police had been to visit him. And now he wanted to talk, smooth things over. No, more likely he wanted to threaten her. Well, she wasn't in the mood.

"You can tell, Mr. Carlisle, that I don't wish to speak to him."

"It's not Mr. Carlisle on the telephone. It's Mr. Baker."

Baker was the butler at Haxby. A highly capable man. He wouldn't call unless something was seriously amiss.

"Tell him I'll be down in a moment."

Anna had already gotten up and was pushing in her stool. "I'm going to turn in, My Lady, unless there is anything else you need?"

"No, of course not. You. . ." Mary gave a pointed glance down. ". . . and the baby need as much sleep as you can get. Good night, Anna . . . and thank you. I haven't had a lot to laugh about recently."

"Me neither. Well, good night, My Lady."

Mary took a deep breath, got up and proceeded downstairs. Whatever was the matter at Haxby, she could handle it by herself. With the way the future was looking, there was a lot that Mary was going to have to handle by herself.

She entered the library to find Matthew on the telephone. That's strange, why would Matthew need to talk with Baker? Something was not right. He motioned her over.

"Yes, she's right here. Hold on a moment."

Matthew hesitated. He pulled out the chair from the desk where the telephone sat. "Perhaps you should sit."

"All right." Her apprehension level was quickly rising.

Once she was seated, Matthew grudgingly handed over the receiver.

"Hello, Baker . . . Can you please tell me what's going on?"

Within a matter of seconds Baker's words began to blur_. Richard. Blood. Dead. Gun. Letter. Police. Body. Arrangements. . ._

Mary couldn't comprehend anymore. She had to end the call. "Thank you, Baker. I'll telephone you in the morning with plans once I have time to sort this all out. And thank you. Goodbye."

She slowly lowered the receiver. Matthew took it from her before it slipped out of her hands and onto the floor.

"I can't believe it. Richard's dead."

Matthew took Mary's arm, gently hauled her up and walked her over to a sofa, then sat down next to her.

"I just can't believe it," Mary repeated. "I would never have imagined him capable of putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger." Mary wryly shook her head. "Somebody else's head, maybe. But not his own."

"He was obviously desperate. After the police visited him this afternoon, he probably figured he would be arrested soon."

At Mary's state of shock, Matthew got up and poured a generous amount of brandy.

"Here, drink this."

Mary did as she was told and took a rather large sip. The brandy burned a path down her throat and revived her senses, her mind.

"I don't know what to say, Mary. I am sorry for your loss. Regardless of his crimes, he was your husband."

Mary shook her head. "No, he wasn't. I mean, of course, he was, at least officially. But he never was in any way that counted . . . He never loved me. I never loved him. It was sham of a marriage."

"His death, the manner of it, is going to make it even more difficult for you in the coming weeks especially since he wrote such a, shall we say, thorough suicide note. If it's leaked to the press. . . I just wish I could spare you the scrutiny and scorn that may come from it."

Baker had not gone into great detail, it wouldn't have been proper, but he had alluded that Richard's suicide note had explicitly described the whole Pamuk affair.

Mary turned a wan smile at Matthew. "At this point, I could care less if society finds out what happened in my bedroom almost eight years ago. I am tired of society and it's trapping. For God's sake, an innocent man, a good man, was almost hung because my husband, a very bad man, killed a woman just to save my name from scandal."

"That's very brave thinking and also very smart thinking."

"I only wish I had never gotten involved with Richard. Everybody would have been better off. At least, Richard's suicide note should clear Bates. He did confess to killing Vera in it, right? My mind couldn't quite comprehend all that Baker was saying."

"Yes, he made a full confession. I can't imagine Bates won't be cleared of any wrongdoing now."

"Thank God for that," Mary sighed.

Matthew reached over and took the snifter and reached for her hands.

"My dear, are you going to be all right tonight? Should I call for Sybil or Anna to come down?"

Her hands lightly squeezed his. "No, I will be fine. I just need some time to absorb it all. I know I should be feeling some sort of sadness or grief. He was my husband after all, but all I feel is relief and. . . ." Mary struggled for the right word.

He tugged loose one hand to gently run his fingers down her creek. "And what?"

"For the first time in forever, I feel . . . liberated."

"The world is yours, Mary Crawley."

Mary smiled upon hearing him say her name. She had hated being Mary Carlisle. Matthew was right. The world was hers for the taking. And this time around, she wouldn't be bullied or pushed into a corner by societal protocols. She would do what's right and follow the moral compass that she had only recently discovered was in her procession.

"Yes, it is. It most certainly is."

With that Mary bid Matthew goodnight. As she walked up the stairs, she felt lighter, almost weightless. Richard was gone. Her future, as difficult as it might be over the next several months, was full of possibility. Anna and Bates weren't the only ones to be granted a second chance. Mary wasn't sure she deserved it. Had she truly atoned for her past mistakes? She didn't know, but like Bates, she ready to stand up and fight for a life worth living. No matter the cost.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N:** About time for John to get out of prison, don't you think? Sorry it took so long to finish this chapter. It had a mind of its own! But I wanted to get it just right._

_As always, I claim to be no expert on the British legal system. So John's appeal may be complete rubbish, but I figured it was high time he received some quality counsel (hint, hint Julian Fellowes)._

_Thanks for continuing to read and review. It helps keep the motivation going!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

January 12th, 1920

11:45am

Wandsworth Prison

"Here you go, mate." The prison guard handed John his gray suit. "The Warden said to go ahead and get changed. Someone will come fetch you when your family arrives to take you home."

_Family_. He smiled at the word. Anna would arrive shortly to take him away from this place. And very soon they would indeed be a complete family. The thought of becoming a father within the month almost brought him to his knees. Part of him was scared witless, but mostly he was absolutely giddy in anticipation. He couldn't stop smiling. John Bates, giddy. Would miracles never cease? His smile increased further.

"Thank you very much." John took the items and started to turn around, but the guard continued to stand in the cell's doorway.

"I just wanted to say, me and the other guards are glad things got sorted out for you. None of us likes seein' an innocent man stuck in here with all these bounders. Just ain't right . . . especially you with that pretty wife of yours about to have a baby." The guard shyly shook his head. "I got a babe at home and another on the way. No child should be born without a father."

"I definitely agree. And I very much appreciate your sentiments."

The prison guard gave a brief smile and nod of acknowledgement, then closed and locked the cell door and went on his way.

There it was again. Another example. How had he been so blind all these years? How had he not seen the spark of humanity, the goodness of man? It had always been there even in his darkest days, but he had refused to recognize it. But almost having a noose around your neck tended to open up your eyes, John mused.

There had always been light in his life, but John was a stubborn man, always had been and probably would be until the day he died. Ever since Africa, he had viewed the world through extremely prejudiced lens. He had seen mankind at its worst, as wartime usually brought about, and after witnessing such horrors there, getting injured, and coming home to Vera, John choose to see himself and the whole of mankind in that same vein.

Yet the unbelievable New Year's morning rescue made John revaluate the life he had almost lost. And he came to a startling discovery. His life hadn't been the nightmare he had previously thought. He hadn't been alone. He had been blessed by the love and friendship of many.

Despite this epiphany, John was no fool. He did know that cruelty, pain and evil would always exist in the world. Only now he was able to acknowledge that decency and kindness also reigned.

Take Africa, even within the midst of death and battle, he had formed one of the most important and meaningful friendships of his life. By sheer chance, while waiting for their final medical exams before shipping off, John met Lord Grantham. His Lordship struck up a conversation with him, mostly out of nervousness. The Earl was quite apprehensive about leaving his family and seeing the "elephant" and had a penchant to chatter on and on. In John, he found a sounding board, a reassuring presence, the perfect balance to his anxiety. And though they were of different ranks and stations, John had found a friend. So for the next two year, they served side by side. They saw it all together; men killed right in front of them, civilians starved, blood running in rivers on the battlefield. They each shed tears, laughed out loud and feared the unknown. Without making his acquaintance, John might never have made it home. Only now did he truly comprehend the importance of their time together.

And what about his previous time in jail? John spent most of it wallowing in self-hate (though he did save a healthy portion for Vera too). He was a mess, no two ways about it. Yet, now that he looked back, it was the weekly mail delivery that sustained him. Every Wednesday, without fail, a letter arrived from his mother. Sometimes her letters described her everyday activities or reminisced about his childhood, but they always provided a shot of encouragement to pull himself together, get sober and make a life. He remembered how annoyed he had been with her unfaltering optimism. But the letters had served as a swift kick in the pants; they goaded him to get back on his feet and put his affairs in order upon being released. John marveled at strength and beauty of a mother's love.

Then there was his most recent predicament. He was astonished by civility that he had been shown by Warden Cox and the guards. He had been convicted of murder, for Christ's sake. Yet, he was never abused or mistreated in any way during his stay at Wandsworth. And he was simply in awe by the lengths the Warden had gone to contact old colleagues within the London Police to make sure a fair inquest into Vera's murder would occur. He didn't have to do it, but he did. There was that spark again.

And nothing amazed John more than then the dangerous trek that Branson, Mr. Crawley and the Crawley sisters endured for his benefit. They could have been injured or worse, but they were willing to risk life and limb and reputation, in Lady Mary's case, to see justice on his behalf. What remarkable people he was blessed to have crossed paths with.

Of course, the brightest of lights for the past eight years had been his Anna. Now John had always been aware from the onset of her innate goodness, her integrity and her beauty both inside and out. He hadn't been Downton long before he was lost and had fallen completely in love with her. That she would reciprocate such love had always been hard for him to wrap his mind around. How could he be worthy of such a creature? With their marriage, John had accepted their love was meant to be, there was no denying it. He had never been happier in his life to take her as his wife, but there had always been a niggling deep down that he still nwasn't creditable to be called her husband.

But that was all changing. John was finally beginning to realize he deserved a second chance. Nothing brought it home more than during one of Anna's daily visits last week. They had been discussing the state of his appeal and the new investigation into Vera's death. John expressed how surprised he was that anybody, not to mention, a warden and an Earl's family, would come to his aid in such a fantastic fashion. Anna just blinked and simply said, "You still don't get it, John. You are valued and respected. You are a kind, honest man. A good man. People care about you and they want to help . . . Believe me when I say, you are worthy of their respect and shouldn't think twice about accepting their help."

That last sentence stayed with John long after Anna left. Was he was worthy of such respect by such fine people? He thought of his life over the past decade. True, he had been a competent and faithful servant to Downton. He knew his job inside out and he did it well. Never was there a complaint. Plus, his loyalty could not be questioned. He had been willing to leave Downton, sacrifice his love for Anna, to protect the family name. Also, during this time he had always taken the honorable path whether it had been in his relationship with Anna or dealing with those who wished him ill such as Thomas and O'Brien. Perhaps he was worthy of being held in such esteem by others after all.

The burgeoning knowledge of self-worth made John finally realize that . . . yes . . . he did merit a second start in life. If so many others thought John was capable and good, then, by God, maybe he was. All John knew was that he would pledge his all his future labor, capital, hopes and dreams to provide a fine life for Anna and their children. They deserved. Hell, he deserved it. Yes, John decided, he was worthy of such a life.

Amazingly, all the pieces fell into place one after another. Just yesterday, John reentered the same courtroom where less than a month earlier, he had been sentenced to die. A judge was set to hear his appeal. Even though Mr. Cameron and Mr. Crawley assured him with all the new evidence, especially Richard Carlisle's suicide note, his conviction was bound to be overturned, John couldn't help being on edge as he was led to the defendant's box. Sitting down, he scanned the courtroom until his eyes found their target. There was Anna flanked by Lady Mary and Lady Sybil. Mr. Crawley and Branson sat alongside. Mr. Crawley gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement while Branson delivered a small salute. But all John saw was Anna mouthing, "I love you."

The appeal hearing was remarkably quick with Mr. Cameron succinctly laying out the case in quick order. Not only did he argue that evidence and testimony from the previous trial had been corrupted, but that new evidence clearly pointed to another suspect. It all sounded good. But John couldn't help but shut his eyes as the judge handed down his ruling. He couldn't bear to see the misery on Anna's face if the conviction stood. His heart stopped as the Judge began to speak.

"_Your appeal is granted."_

With those four words his heart started up again. He heard a shriek come from across the courtroom. Once again after a ruling Anna had let out a shriek, only this time it was a cry of joy. The judge further went on to explain that the Crown had until tomorrow morning to decide whether or not to pursue a retrial. If they chose not to, he would be released immediately and his record cleared of any wrongdoing.

John couldn't stop smiling as he was escorted out of courtroom and back to the prison. Their nightmare was almost over. Later in the afternoon, he met with Anna and his lawyer in the prison visitation room. Mr. Cameron promised he would send word as soon as he heard from the Crown's counsel.

As he hugged Anna goodbye, she whispered, "This will be our last night apart. Tomorrow you will be sleeping by my side."

"I certainly hope so."

"Me too. I really want to test out that old wives' tale I mentioned to you on New Year's."

It took John a few seconds to realize what she was referencing. By then, Anna was already on her way out the door. What a naughty girl he had married, and just when he thought he couldn't love her anymore. John threw back his head and laughed.

He had only managed a few hours sleep. His leg wasn't even bothering him, but his insomnia kept him awake. But it wasn't brought on by worry or fear, only anticipation. With his new sense of value, he was confident that fate wouldn't be so cruel as to put him through another trial. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right. And it was about time things went right for him and Anna.

Then the miracle was confirmed when Warden Cox appeared in front of John's cell soon after he had returned from breakfast.

"I just got word from your lawyer."

"And. . ." Even though he was usually a patient man, John wanted to burst.

"Looks like you better start packing. . .There isn't going to be a retrial."

John let out the breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

"Thank God." John shook his head. "It's over."

"Go ahead down to the showers and clean yourself up for when your wife arrives."

John shivered a bit as he now undressed and put his best suit, his trial suit, on and waited for a guard to come get him. His hair was longer than he'd like. It was still damp from his shower and causing his shirt collar to become sodden. He ran a hand over his cleanly shaven face. How refreshing that felt. He had become accustomed to being unkempt and scruffy during his stay at Wandsworth where he had been lucky if he got one shave a week. He always tried to have it done before Anna visited. For her, he had wanted to look his best.

And now after so many months of visits that always ended the same way, Anna departing through the steel door of the visitation room, he would be able to leave with her. He would be free and his opportunity. . . no, correct that. . . their opportunity to start anew within this world would begin.

He surveyed the small cell that had been his home for the past year. So cramped; just a cot, a toilet and a small table. One of things John looked forward to most upon arriving back at Downton would be the open space and grandeur of the home. He couldn't wait to look out the Earl's bedroom window upon the wide expanse of the front lawn. John would never take for granted the beauty of Downton again.

He went about gathering up his belongings. There wasn't much. He picked up the copy of _The Rainbow _from the night stand and sat down and thumbed through it. Anna was going to mad. As much as he had wanted to save the ending to read together, Lawrence was just too fine of a writer and John was too greedy of a reader. He polished it off two days after Anna handed it to him. But he rather liked the idea of snuggling in bed next to Anna and rereading it together. John grinned at the thought of where such reading might lead. It had been banned in Britain for a reason.

John laid aside the book and knelt down beside the cot. His knee strongly protested the weight placed upon it. He lowered his head to look under the cot. Once locating what he seeked, John extended one arm and pulled out a large pile of envelopes securely tied together with a string. He set them aside as he reclined on the cot and rubbed his burning knee. Despite feeling anew inside, his knee felt as old as dirt. As he rubbed, he looked down at the pile, all of Anna's letters.

She had faithfully written weekly between weekend visits. Sometimes her letters were nothing more than a recitation of the daily happening at Downton. Others served as reminders of all her hopes and dreams for their future, while some simply expressed her love for him. As much as John loved reading her words written in a neat, no-nonsense script, the fragrance that accompanied was what he looked forward to most. He wasn't sure if her letters purposefully smelled of lilacs. Had she dabbed each letter with her perfume? Or did the bouquet just float off her and settle on the paper? Whatever the case, they made him dizzy for her. And whenever he thought he couldn't go on, he pulled out pile and breathed in her essence. It fortified him until the next time he could see her.

"All right, Bates. Time to go."

John looked up to see the guard unlocking his cell. This was it. He picked up the book and letters and without a second glance walked through the open cell door.

As he walked down the long corridor of cells, John was surprised to hear clatter and shouts coming from the other inmates. Ever since his failed execution, he had become quite the celebrity at Wandsworth. Prior to that, most folks had stayed away from him, he had been convicted of murder after all. But as word spread that he had been framed and might actually be innocent, prisoners he had never spoken to, came up to him during meals and wanted to know if it was true—Was he really innocent? In a strange way, John served as a beacon of hope for the men. If he could get out of here, then maybe they had a chance too. Unfortunately, unlike John, most of them were guilty and wouldn't be seeing the light of day anytime soon.

So with shouts of "Good luck Mate", "Cheers", and "Godspeed" reigning down, John walked away from his home for the past nine months. Even though he was limping greatly, John stood tall as he left the cell block. His new life was about to begin. As he walked by the Warden's office on the way to the processing room, he was reminded how close he had been to death. It invigorated him. He straightened his posture even more. In a matter of seconds, he would be reunited with Anna and they would have each other for all time. A feeling for renewal flooded John. The processing room door opened. It would all begin here, with Anna. . .

Only Anna wasn't there.

Surprise quickly turned to alarm. Where was she? Was she all right? Was she sick? Dear God, the baby. . .

"I can tell by the look on your face, you were expecting someone else," Matthew Crawley warmly noted as he stepped forward.

"Where's Anna? John wanted to ask more, but fear was clogging up his throat.

Matthew held out his hand which John nervously took.

"No worries, old chap." Matthew assured him as he shook his hand and patted John's shoulder with his free hand. "She fine, just exhausted."

"Oh." John couldn't hide his disappointment even though he knew it was selfish on his part. After all, Anna had been with him every step of the way. She had a right to be tired. It's just that he had wanted her by his side to take those first steps together.

"Well, I guess I should elaborate. She exhausted from giving birth to your child."

John's head snapped up. The wheels of his brain turning in slow motion. "Say that again."

"After laboring through the night, she gave birth first thing this morning."

He began to process. "And she's well? The baby's healthy?"

"Yes on both accounts. I spoke with the mid-wife and she said it was one of the easiest first births she had ever delivered. Though. . ." Matthew leaned in conspiratorially. "I'll be honest, the way Mary and Sybil were scurrying around the house had me and Tom scared to death."

"I should have been there."

"Nonsense. Mrs. Potter, the mid-wife, is menacing force, like a General on the battlefield. You just take orders and stay clear of her way. Trust me, there was no way she would have let you near Anna."

John had to grin at Matthew's description. "All right, can you tell me. . ."

"No, I can't," Matthew interrupted. "I was sworn to secrecy upon penalty of death by your wife. You'll just have to wait the twenty minutes it takes to get to Grantham House to see if you are the proud father to a son or a daughter. I'm not risking my head."

John laughed. God, it felt good to do so. It seemed so natural. This new life was off to an incredible start.

Warden Cox came up from behind.

"Here you go." Handing John his cane and coat. "So I hear congratulations are in order."

"Yes, sir. Anna gave birth this morning."

"Well, please do give her my best. She is quite a woman and will make an exceptional mother."

"That she will," John paused and struggled for words. "Sir, I don't know how to thank you. What you did for me and Anna . . . I haven't the words to express the gratitude. . ."

Warden Cox put a hand out and shook his head to stop John. "Don't. I'm only glad it all worked out." He held out his hand to John. "Just promise me I won't see you in here ever again."

John shook the Warden's hand. "You have my word."

"Best of luck, Bates." With that, Warden Cox turned and left the processing room.

"Shall we be off?"

"Absolutely." He was a free man and he was ready to leave the prison behind like a snake shedding its skin.

A guard held open the heavy steel front door for them. John stepped through, leaned on his cane and took a deep breath. The cool winter air mixed with a slightly sewage smell coming from the Thames. It didn't smell good, but John didn't mind. It was the freshest air he had breathed in months because he breathed it as a free man.

"How does it feel?"

John just shook his head. He hadn't the words. He took another deep breathe.

"Well, I'd say it's time you met that child of yours."

He gave Matthew a half smile. "Right, you are."

As Matthew signaled for the driver to pull forward, the sun snuck out from behind the clouds. John tilted his face upward and basked in its warmth. A new John Bates had been born; one who was a devoted husband, a loving father and a respected employee. The baggage of the past had been left back in his cell. The sun shone down its approval.

As they made their way through London, Matthew kept up pleasant small talk. John didn't say much, content to enjoy the ride and the company. He had always liked the younger Mr. Crawley. The future Earl was intelligent and sincere, very much a man of integrity; and his middle class values would serve Downton well. The world was changing and Downton would have to be ready to adapt. As much as he was fond of Robert Crawley, John wagered that Matthew might prove to be an even more successful Earl.

". . .Mary spoke to her father and a cottage is being readied for you and Anna as we speak." At the sound Mary name, John focused in on what Matthew was actually saying.

"Thank you, Sir. That's more than generous. We appreciate everything the family's done for us over the last year. It is remarkable . . . May I ask, how is Lady Mary coping with the death of Sir Richard? This couldn't have been easy on her. "

Matthew chuckled a bit. "Better than you'd think. The police kept the scandalous part of Richard's suicide note from being leaked to the press. As far as anyone knows, he killed himself over financial failings, at least that's the story being floated around London. For Mary, it will be a lot easier to be the widow of a shoddy investor than the wife of a murderer."

He paused and looked up at John. "Actually I've never seen a widow as vibrant as her. She may be wearing black, but on the inside she's a rainbow."

"That's rather poetic."

"Well, that's a first," rumbled Matthew in a full-out laugh. "I don't know, maybe it's Mary, she makes me say and do the silliest things."

John could relate. He had done some extremely silly things upon falling in love with Anna. She had always said Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary were meant to be together. And now seeing heir of Downton slightly blush at the mention of Mary, John concluded that his wife was right. . .again. John lips curved up as his mind wandered . . . but would she be right about their child's gender? He still wasn't sold on her mother's intuition.

"Well, here we are."

Grantham House was a sprawling town house a block from Hyde Park. John had been to it often during his days as valet for Lord Grantham. But as he walked up the front steps, he realized this was the first time he would be not be using the servant's entrance.

They were greeted by the butler, Mr. Edwards. He took John's coat along with Anna's letter and _The Rainbow_. John gave Matthew a nervous smile. As much as he tried to stay calm, John's hands were sweaty and his heart sped up. He was about to see his child. Jesus, would be a good father? Did he have it in him? Stop it. John mentality chastised himself. You are worthy, John Bates.

Mary floated down the steps and her pleasure couldn't be hidden especially after spying Matthew.

"I thought I heard someone come in." Mary turned to John. "We are so happy to have you home."

"No more than I am to be here."

John took a furtive glance up the staircase? Was Anna up there in one of the guest rooms? Or was she in the servant's quarters?

Mary saw the path of John's eyes. "So what are we waiting for, let's get you upstairs. Anna's been asking every five minutes if you had arrived yet. She can't wait to see you." She took to the stairs beckoning the men to follow.

As they reached the top, light spilled out from the closest bedroom. John's heart proceeded to beat double time.

"Here we are. . .and congratulations, Bates. You both deserve it so much."

He knew it was rude to not acknowledge Lady Mary, but all he could do was nod his head and move to the open door.

Never had John seen a more wondrous sight in his whole entire life. There sitting up in bed, plumped up by a pile of pillows, was his Anna and cradled in her lap was a small bundle that John could only assume was their child. She hadn't noticed him in the doorway yet, so he took a moment to drink in her beauty. She was gazing down and softly whispering. Locks of hair slipped out of her loose braid and fell across her face.

John thought of the photos he had seen in a book about the Italian Renaissance, all the famous painting of the Madonna with the child Jesus. Mary was depicted so serene and content. Well, Raphael and Michelangelo creations were nothing compared to the scene in front of him now.

At the first sound of his cane upon the carpeted floor, Anna looked up. A wide smile broke across her face.

"We've been waiting for you."

Never taking his eyes off Anna, John concentrated putting one foot in front of the other as he crossed the room. His mind was muddled and his heart was full.

"Come John, meet you son, Daniel."

Upon hearing his child's name, John felt the first tears fill his eyes. My God, it was all real. He was here with Anna and their son as a free man. They were going to have a life together.

He leaned his cane upon the nightstand and sat down on top of the bedding next to Anna. He wanted to draw them into an embrace, but new father trepidation caused his to pause.

As if reading his mind, Anna assured him, "Don't worry, we're not going to break."

With that, John placed his arm around her and gently brought her to his chest. He leaned his face upon the top of her head. Her hair absorbing his tears.

"I love you, Anna," his voice cracked. "I love you."

"And I love you too, John." A teardrop fell onto his pant leg.

John pulled back. It was time he got a look at his son.

There swaddled in a cozy blue blanket was his boy. Daniel. He already liked the sound of the name. His grandfather would be proud. He was a tiny thing: tiny nose, tiny eyes, tiny ears, tiny mouth, though John didn't have any point of reference. All babies were this small, right? His face was a bit red. His hair a shock of black. His eyelids fluttered as if he knew he was being surveyed. Blue eyes stared back at John.

"Anna, he's. . .perfect."

"I knew he would be. He takes after his father."

John huffed out a small laugh. "That mother's intuition of yours again?"

"Well, it seems a little more accurate than that Irish intuition you claimed," Anna chuckled with a bit of cheek in her voice.

"So it seems."

He drew a shuddering breath and let his forehead rest upon hers. Then mirroring Anna's words on the night Daniel had been conceived, John whispered, "I am now who I was meant to be."

Anna's face radiated understanding. John had finally come full circle.

He laid his cheek upon her head and let his index finger trail down his son's face. So precious, so amazing. John could not help but see a divine hand at work. So for the first time in twenty odd years, John Bates closed eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks.

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><p><em><strong>AN:** Okay folks. . .one more chapter!_


	13. Epilogue Part 1

_**A/N: **__Finally-Hours 'Til Dawn is drawing to an end! Sorry it's been so long in coming. Real life has been quite crazy lately, so poor John and Anna's fate got pushed to the side-how dare filing taxes eat into my writing time!_

_I meant for the epilogue to be only one chapter, but it ended up being super long. Since I didn't think folks would want to read a Tolstoy length chapter, I broke it up into two parts. Hopefully it flows okay. _

_Just a little historical note: John's lullaby is an actual Irish lullaby, trust me I'm not that creative to write an original one. Also, a dollar in 1920 is equivalent to ten dollars today, so the inn really is a good deal. _

_Also, I just want to apologize if folks got multiple story alerts last chapter. I had a horrendous time uploading it. First the chapter didn't attach correctly, and then the whole site crashed. Either I'm a computer dunce or I am fanfic cursed. Either is a distinct possibility. _

_Finally, thanks so much for keeping with this story. I appreciate all your kind words and support!_

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><p><strong>Epilogue—Part 1<strong>

Five months later

3:30am

Bates Family Cottage

"Shh, shh. . . I'm right here, my lad. Lay your head down."

John propped his young son against shoulder with practiced ease. He marveled how only a few months ago he had been scared to death to even hold Danny. Now with a puff of pride, he considered himself a venerable veteran of baby care. Hell, he even changed his boy's nappies.

Little Daniel Bates banged his head twice against his father's shoulder before burrowing into the crook of his neck.

"Come now, your mum deserves a full night's sleep," John murmured as he paced about their cottage's small living room. Moonlight streamed in from the front bay window to faintly illuminate the room.

"How about a little song? Here's one your grandmother sang to me when I was just a babe."

He took a deep breath. John couldn't remember the last time he had sung aloud. Even during all his years of attending Sunday services while at Downton, he just stood with the congregation, refraining from adding his voice to the mix. That's not to say he didn't appreciate music. He rather enjoyed concerts of the local brass band on the village green or listening to the phonograph in Lord Grantham's study. No, he just didn't like hearing _his_ voice. But for his son, he would do anything . . . even attempt to carry a tune.

"Well, here goes nothing. . ." Danny wiggled and gurgled a bit urging him on. In a gravely whisper of a voice, he began:

_In Dublin's fair city  
>where the girls are so pretty<br>I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone  
>She wheeled her wheel barrow<br>through streets broad and narrow  
>Crying "Cockles and mussels alive, alive oh!"<em>

This wasn't so hard. John swayed softly from side to side. Danny bumped his head once more against his neck before settling down.

_Alive alive oh  
>alive alive ohh<br>Crying cockles and mussels  
>alive alive ohhh<em>

He peeked down to see sleepy blue eyes staring back at him. Danny was almost there. Another round of the chorus and he'd be sound asleep.

As John repeated the chorus, he thought how fitting the Irish ditty was to his current mindset_. Alive, Alive oh . . ._ Yes, by God, he was alive, more alive than he had ever been in his life. He may have just celebrated his fiftieth birthday and hobbled around on an old man's knee, but he felt half his bloody age.

With this new sense of being, came a yearning for more; to try more, to see more, to be more.

The days following his release from Wandsworth were a blur: returning to Downton with Anna and Danny, settling into their cottage, acclimating back to a life as a free man. But as radical as those changes were, it wasn't long before his life fell into a routine he recognized. They hadn't arrived home but for a few days when he went back to work as valet for Lord Grantham. It was quite surreal to John that one week he had been languishing in prison and the next he going about such mundane tasks as ironing his Lordship's trousers and polishing his shoes. Was this what he was meant to do for the rest of his life? Or was it possible to deviate from such a trajectory?

All around him folks were altering their preordained paths in life. Barely a month after Sir Richard's death, Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary announced their engagement to the delight of everyone at Downton. After their June wedding, they planned to reside in the village where Matthew would practice law and they would live at Crawley House. Even though there had been some worry by the Dowager Countess and Lady Grantham about how certain quarters of society would view such a marriage so soon after being widowed, Lady Mary couldn't care in the least. In fact, she told Anna that had never been happier and "to Hell with those brainless idiots in London." The eldest Crawley daughter had definitely come a long way from the selfish young lady that he had first encountered upon arriving at Downton.

Then there was Branson and Lady Sybil. To everyone's surprise, Mary appointed Branson to head up the day-to-day operations of Sir Richard's newspaper empire. Even further to everyone's surprise, he was quite adept at the job. With her support, he was able to clean house of those employees still loyal to Carlisle that might be thorns in his side going forward. He then hired more reporters and dispatched them internationally. A newspaper that would cover the world not just Britain was his goal. John appreciated the irony of the Irish radical now rubbing elbows with the upper echelons of society. He wagered they were in for a ride.

Though Branson may have taken a more traditional job, his wife was courting controversy with her position. With funds lent to her by sister (Mary wanted to do good with all of "Richard's damn money" as she referred to it), Lady Sybil began a women's health clinic in London. It provided free medical care for poor women of all ages, but specially targeted young women. Though it was not outwardly advertised, contraceptives were being distributed at the clinic despite being illegal in Britain. Anna worried that Sybil was in over her head and feared the repercussions that might come her way, but John, on the other hand, admired her grit. It took courage to have your actions actually match your words and beliefs.

Just over a year ago, all their lives had been going in very different directions. Yet fate (or was it luck?) stepped in to revise the course. Was it too much for him to hope for the same?

With the chorus finished, John paused his pacing and looked down at Danny. He could feel his light breath through the cotton of his pajamas. How beautiful was his boy. A few more minutes of rocking and he would attempt to settle him back into the crib. He lightly feathered a kiss over his dark hair. God, how he loved him.

And because he loved him John wanted more.

It's funny, he had always thought of himself content with his lot in life, be that good, bad or otherwise. That was especially true when he first arrived at Downton. After the years of drinking, sitting in prison, merely existing, having a good, steady job in a fine home had been enough for John. Not anymore. He wasn't that same man. His brush with death at Wandsworth taught him life can be out of your control, so when you do hold the reigns you need to act.

He hadn't been specifically looking. He and Anna were still getting their feet wet with Danny, fixing the cottage up and simply getting used to being a family. But an opportunity landed at John's feet that he couldn't help but consider.

A little over a month ago, Lady Grantham's mother, brother and sister-in-law arrived at Downton to spend a few extra weeks visiting before Lady Mary's wedding. With them, they brought a lady's maid and a valet. As the days went by, John became acquainted with the visiting valet, Mr. Hayes. He was both competent and congenial. His American mannerisms and thinking amused John. He was quite the talker and didn't mind starting a conversation with any of the downstairs staff.

One afternoon before lunch, Hayes sat down beside him in the empty servants' hall. John could tell that the American was looking for banter. He put down his book. _Heart of Darkness_ really wasn't holding his interest anyway, not with the sun shining through the windows.

"Do you ever think of leaving service?" Hayes queried.

John eyed him guardedly. Yes, he did. But this was something he hadn't even discussed with Anna; he wasn't about to with a man he had known for less than a week.

"Do you?"

"All the time," Hayes responded with a smile. "Don't get me wrong. Mr. Levinson is good man and a decent employer. But I want make something of myself. I can't do that waiting hand and foot on someone else."

"What would you do?"

"I'll tell you, if I had the money I'd buy this inn that's near the family estate in the Hamptons." John's ears pricked up a bit at the mention of an inn. Long ago, he and Anna had sat at the very same table discussing such a prospect.

"What's it like?"

"Oh, it's a beauty, 20 odd rooms, an innkeeper's cottage, stables, a large lot. Owned and run by the Levinson's former head housekeeper, Mrs. Appleman, a nice old lady. She was incredibly kind to me when I was hired on. I was only but a boy, barely sixteen."

"So she managed to buy the inn . . . on her wages?"

"Mrs. A is quite the spend thrift and scraped together every penny she had just to buy it; that's why she hates so much to sell it, especially to some company that's going to just tear it down in order to build a larger hotel."

At John's questioning look, Hayes went on to explain that the land the inn was on had become extremely valuable real estate. Developers were looking to build large resorts for all the nouveau riche vacationers from New York City that had descended on the area in recent years.

"For her, it's not even about the money. She just doesn't want to see the inn she put so much hard work and heart into demolished. But she's getting up in years and can't maintain it like she used to even with the small staff she employs. She's willing to sell for a lot less than the resort folks would pay on a couple of conditions. . ." Hayes paused knowing he had John's full attention. "She wants the inn to stay as it is and secondly, she'd like to live in one of the suites after selling. She doesn't have any family or place to go. The inn has been her only home for the past twenty five years."

John mulled over Hayes's words. _A quaint inn . . . all their own . . . with a small staff. . . An old lady in residence . . . would be a big help with the baby . . . a new start . . . But could they really move to America?_

"Do you know how much she is asking?"

"Say . . . is you interested?" Hayes exclaimed. "Fantastic!"

"Hold on, I just asked about the selling price."

"Last I heard she was willing to sell, under her conditions of course, for twelve hundred dollars. That really is a steal. Like I said if I had the money, I'd buy it in an instant."

John wasn't sure what the current exchange rate was, but that didn't sound like an unreasonable amount. He was still in possession of his mother's townhouse in London. Thank God, Vera hadn't sold it before her death. Currently, they were making a healthy return by renting it out. But if they sold it. . .

After obtaining Mrs. Appleman's address from Hayes, John skipped tea and composed a long letter to the innkeeper. He felt a little guilty doing it without speaking with Anna first, but he wanted to get more information about the inn before even bringing up the possibility with her. He would hate to get her hopes up just to have them dashed. And he was very much worried that might happen. Not everyone was thrilled with the prospect of doing business with an ex-convict. Mrs. Appleman needed to know of the skeletons in his closet. Nothing would be worse than leaving their life at Downton only to have a deal fall apart upon arriving in America.

To his surprise, in a little over two weeks, John received a reply back from the innkeeper. It had been a frank, cheerful and thoroughly amusing letter. Mrs. Appleman wrote that his story had been more entertaining than the serials in her women's magazines ("You should really write it down and sell it. Trust me, the rags I read would buy it"). She went on to assure him that his past marriage and imprisonment didn't bother her. In fact, she had been married to a "no good bastard son-of-a-bitch" who had left her high and dry when she was just a girl, so she could relate to his marriage to Vera. John had to chuckle how she didn't shy away from airing her personal dirty laundry. God, were all Americans were so open and upfront? But it was comforting that Mrs. Appleman understood everyone had a past and the present was what mattered whether someone was a man of character. Unbeknownst to him, Mr. Hayes had written a letter of introduction and recommendation of John. This weighed heavily in his favor with the old lady, plus she seemed particularly thrilled at the prospect of having a baby on premises to dote on. If they had the money, she would be more than happy to sell the Willow Tree Inn to them.

John walked over to the front window and snuggled Danny a little closer. It was a clear night. Orion's Belt shined in a row.

To him, it was a perfect opportunity. A chance to be their own masters, to provide their son with a future that was limitless and most importantly to start anew. All the ugliness of the past few years could truly be left behind, metaphorically and physically.

But it all came down to Anna and what she wanted. So much of their relationship had revolved around him: his previous marriage, his attempt to get a divorce, his arrest, his trial, his imprisonment. His past actions had dictated their lives for far too long and amazingly she had stuck by him through it all. She now deserved to decide what path they should travel. John knew she would insist they decide together, but as far as he was concerned, whatever she wanted he would gladly agree to. Despite his yearnings, his top priority would always be to simply make Anna happy. If she wanted to spend the rest of their lives in this cottage, then so be it. It was up to her.

Yet John sensed that moving away from Downton might be exactly what Anna might desire.

He worried about her. There had been so much upheaval in their lives over the last year. For him, things were finally getting back to normal: working all day at Downton, spending the evenings with Anna and Danny. Perhaps a new normal, but a rather familiar routine nonetheless. But arriving home from London only brought more changes for Anna. No longer was she head maid at Downton, but full-time wife and mother in charge of their household.

While having no childcare experience, Anna was a natural taking care of their son, not that John ever doubted her abilities. Watching her tend to Danny with every soft word and gentle cuddle, he knew there was nothing else she'd rather be. He also understood that she took pride in caring for him too. It made him blush a bit to have her do his laundry, mend his clothes, make his breakfast. No one besides his mother had ever seen to his needs and in such a loving manner. And his heart turned over at the smile she saved for him each evening when he came home from the work.

No, Anna wasn't upset being wife and mother. It was her new surroundings that weren't very hospitable to her new life.

Since she was fifteen, Anna had lived at Downton. She worked there. She ate there. She slept there. Yes, she did come into the village for Sunday services or occasionally to the market or post office for Mrs. Hughes. Sometimes during their long courtship, she and John explored shops on half days they had managed together. But the truth was Anna had never been a part of the Downton village. Like all the employees of the Abbey, she was seen as an interloper; perhaps accepted as a customer or a parishioner, but to tight knit village community just a nameless face.

The thought had never even crossed John's mind that Anna would have trouble making friends and fitting in with the local folk. Who wouldn't like her? Seriously, he knew he was biased, but this was Anna. Everyone, upstairs and down, adored her. Hell, even O'Brien was warming to her now that the baby had arrived.

But an inkling something wasn't right came after the first Sunday service they attended upon returning from London. It was a rather warm morning for the middle of February, so folks lingered a bit chit-chatting. John was talking with Mr. Carson, while Anna proudly showed off Danny to Mrs. Hughes. He wasn't sure what precipitated, but the next thing he knew Anna was marching across the church lawn, baby on hip, straight to a trio of older ladies. Then loud enough for John to hear, and he surmised everyone else still gathered, she advised that "If you have something to say about me, my husband or our family, please say it to my face, not behind my back." Then she stalked back, grabbed John's arm and proceeded to their cottage without looking back once.

He was furious that anyone would dare gossip about his wife, especially so-called pious women. The birth of his son may have made him reevaluate his faith, but this was exactly the reason John hated organized religion with a passion. What hypocritical old wenches. Once home, he turned to Anna. Was this the first time she had been treated in such a manner? She just shrugged it off and claimed she had been up much of the night nursing Danny and the lack of sleep made her more irritable than normal. John didn't buy it for a second.

Whenever he asked about the village and its inhabitants, she would turn up a smile, give some generic response and quickly change the subject. But John knew her smiles, all of them. He even knew her fake smiles, ones that didn't quite reach her eyes that were given in attempt to cover up pain. He had seen plenty of those during her visits at Wandsworth. No, something was going on and he feared he was responsible.

Once again Anna was suffering because of him. The only possible explanation for the village ostracizing her was that she was married to him. Even though John had legally been cleared of any connection to Vera's death, the fact that real murderer's identity had not been made public, cast a shadow over his innocence. It would seem that the villagers believed he got away with murder. Given that revealing the real murderer would only bring scandal to Lady Mary and the Crawley family, there was no way for John to correct such supposition. It galled him that Anna was at the mercy of these narrow minded simpletons. She didn't deserve it; especially after all they'd been through.

John repositioned Danny on his shoulder. He really should sit down. His leg was beginning to throb. As he started to turn, he felt hands creep up his side. A head leaned against his back.

"Anna," he breathed out as hands tightened around his middle.

"You're just staring out the window. What are you thinkin' about?"

John took a deep breath. Even though it was the middle of the night he wanted to tell her about the inn, to gage her interest.

"Anna . . . are you happy?"

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><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Okay, one more chapter. I mean it this time! Find out if Anna is happy . . . and whether or not they decide to leave Downton._

_One final acknowledgement to __**PBCD**__ for coming up with the line about John ironing his lordship's trousers. I just had to use it! _


	14. Epilogue Part 2

_**A/N: **__ So here's the conclusion of Hours 'Til Dawn. Thanks again for all the kind reviews and helpful critiques and for simply sticking with the story. I really hadn't meant for it to take five months to write—I was shooting to have it written by the Christmas Special—well, I guess I missed that deadline by quite a bit! _

_One final acknowledgement: Many thanks to **EPhoard** for helping compile John's extensive reading list throughout this story and also inspiration for Sybil's future career!_

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><p><strong>Epilogue—Part 2<strong>

3:30am

Bates Family Cottage

She rolled over and before she opened her eyes she knew John wasn't beside her. The slight indentation where he had lain was still warm. He couldn't have been up for long. Even though he seemed to be sleeping better than when he first was released, there were still plenty of nights when his knee ached or his insomnia thrived. Anna knew there was very little she could do to ease either ailment, but that didn't mean she couldn't try.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she padded to the stairs. A soft, low sound caused her to pause. Dear God, was he moaning in pain? She quickly started down but as she reached the landing, the sight before her stopped her in her tracks.

There swaying was John singing to their boy. Her heart swelled at the sight. This was a memory she wanted to lock away for all time.

A smile grew as he repeated the silly chorus. She hated to admit it now, but deep down she had worried whether John would take to fatherhood. He was, after all, a middle-aged man who had never been around children. She never doubted he would love their son and provide for him, but she wasn't sure how involved he wanted to be with the care and raising of Danny. She feared he would think himself too old and broken to take an active role.

But those concerns had been for naught. Though incredibly nervous and awkward at first, John was eager to lend a hand. He didn't mind rocking Danny or wrestling his little body into baby gowns. He even changed nappies. Having almost lost his life and the chance of even knowing his son, John seemed determined to help in any way he could.

And even though he just turned fifty last month, there was new raw vibrancy about him. Yes, his knee had only gotten worse in prison and his hair had begun to gray at the temples, but to Anna, he seemed younger than the day she met him.

Having finished singing, he now stood staring out the window resting his cheek upon their son's head. She couldn't resist. Anna wanted to be part of their embrace.

She silently slipped down the rest of the stairs and across the room. Her hands snaked up his sides and around his front. He was filling out again. After all the weight he lost in prison, she would be happy to have him on the plump side for the rest of his life. She could hear him sigh her name as she rested her head on his back.

She looked out the window. She could make out little in the darkness.

"You're just staring out the window. What are you thinkin' about?"

After a second, he whispered, "Anna . . . are you happy?"

She flinched and her back tensed.

"Of course, I'm happy. I have you. I have Danny. We're finally together after all we've been through . . . How can you even think I'm not happy?"

But even as the words came out of her mouth, Anna knew they were not entirely the truth.

John twisted in her embrace so he could see her face.

"I don't doubt you're content with us. But what about this house . . . the village . . . are you truly happy living here?"

She turned away before John could see the truth on her face. She didn't want him to know. She could handle it. Good grief, he had been in prison for almost a year. Surely, she could manage to deal with some unfriendly locals.

Walking to the fireplace, Anna kept her back to him. "If this is about what happened that one Sunday, I already told you . . . I was tired. I had been up with Danny the night before and I wasn't in a very good mood. That's all."

"We both know there is more to it than that."

He was right. There was a lot more to it. But she wasn't about to tell him how she had become a pariah within their own community.

She had arrived from London full of hope and anticipation. John had been released and was employed. Their baby was healthy and growing by the day. They had a place to call their own. It was everything she had ever wanted.

It wasn't until she started making shopping rounds in the village that she noticed something was amiss. Despite her usual friendly demeanor, the shopkeepers displayed a cold politeness in return. She didn't understand it. She had never been treated this way during previous shopping excursions. It wasn't until she stopped into the dry goods store that she began to comprehend what was going on.

She had only a few items for purchase, but more importantly Anna wanted to set up a line of store credit. As a round, middle aged women calculated her purchases, she explained that she and her family had recently moved into the village and was interested in setting up an account.

The lady was pleasant as she spared a smile for Danny who slept peacefully in his pram. "That's not a problem. Now what did you say your name was?"

"Bates. Anna and my husband is John."

The storekeeper's smile dropped from her face. "I've heard all about you."

Confusion swirled in Anna. "You have?"

"Oh yes, it's not every day that a murderer moves into our village."

She was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do.

The lady shook her head. "I don't think I can extend credit to someone who kills his wife just so he can be with a girl half his age. And to think, he got away with it."

A few customers gathered around and stared at Anna. She was frozen. Her mind was blank but she could feel the familiar pressure of tears building upon her eyes.

A soft sniffle of a cry came from Danny. It propelled her mind to function again.

Though her lip trembled, Anna refused to let any tears fall. She wouldn't let this despicable woman get the best of her.

"So, our money's not good here, is that it?" She shoved the items she was going to buy across the counter. A can rolled onto the floor, a bag of flour tipped over. "Fine. Just fine. I wouldn't want to do business somewhere that gossips and spreads lies about its customers. Good day."

Turning on her heel, Anna pushed the pram out of the store and didn't look back. She held her head high the entire way home. It wasn't until she closed the cottage door that she allowed tears to stream down her face. She was able to get herself calmed down and cleaned up by the time John came home, but never again would she shop at that store. From then on, she went to Ripon for any dry goods they needed. If John noticed, he never said anything. She just couldn't go back and face such humiliation.

Cold shoulders and sour looks became the norm. She thought as time went by folks would soften their attitudes toward her, but after a few weeks their prejudices remained harden in place.

One afternoon she took Danny for a walk and ran into Mrs. Bird on her way back to Crawley House. Despite being a general in the kitchen, the cook had always been kind to Anna. She offered her a smile which was a rarity these days and asked if she would like to come in for a cup of tea. Being devoid of adult conversation during the day, she jumped at the offer.

"You've been having a tough time lately?" Mrs. Bird asked as she poured their tea.

"What do you mean?" Anna hedged.

"I'm not blind, my dear. I see the way the locals treat you."

Anna just looked down at her hands.

"It's all Thomas's fault, you know."

Her head sprang up. "Thomas? What's he got to do with it?"

"Well, when the news came down that your husband was returning to be his Lordship's valet, Thomas wasn't very happy about losing his position. So as a bit of revenge, he went into the village, to the pub and all the shops, talking up how a murderer was coming to live amongst them. He told this grand tale about how your husband murdered his kind, devoted wife just so he could be with his much younger and more attractive mistress and that he had managed to weasel out of prison on a technicality."

"But it's not true. None of it."

The cook shook her head sadly. "You know it and I know it, but unfortunately, the village bought the bunk Thomas was selling."

Anna never mentioned to John what Thomas had done. She was worried what he might do. For the first time in a long time, things were going well for him. He didn't need to know about any of her trouble in the village. She could cope with it. After all, she had been the head maid in a large home. She could deal with hostile villagers. Things would get better. They had to.

But as the weeks turned to months, the situation hadn't improved. Anna felt that she was now the one in prison, perhaps not with bars, but a prison just the same. As much as she loved her son, she was going out of her mind not having other adults to converse with during the day. She lived for Lady Mary's visits, but even they were becoming few and far between as the wedding neared and she couldn't spare time to visit Anna regularly. Thank God for Mrs. Bird. Tea time with the gruff cook made the week bearable.

She missed working at Downton, not because she didn't enjoy being a mother or keeping a house, but because she loved the energy that came with so many souls under one roof. How she longed to hear one of Mrs. Patmore's incoherent rants and see Daisy scurrying in response. She never realized how much she enjoyed being there until she was gone. And funny as it may sound, she missed John. Even though she reveled in him coming home to her each evening and falling asleep in his arms each night, she yearned to see him during the day. In some ways, she had been spoiled when they worked together. He was always lurking about with a smile or touch. If she wished to speak with him, all she had to do was look. What she wouldn't give to work with him again.

But that was all in the past. The village was her new reality_. Chin up_, she told herself. She'd just have do the best she could. She supposed she could speak with Mary about all the ugliness or perhaps even his Lordship. But Anna didn't want to be seen as tattling. Somehow she didn't think the villagers would take kindly to a rebuke from the Earl. Times were changing. Things weren't as they were before the war. She wasn't sure how much influence Lord Grantham even wielded. No, she would just have to manage on her own.

She heard a slight huff of breath behind her. She turned to see John depositing himself and Danny onto the small settee they had recently purchased. She could tell that his knee was bothering him. He had been standing too long.

"Do we really need to discuss this now? It's almost four in the morning. You can still get some sleep before you have to be up."

But John plunged on. "I know there is more that you're not saying."

"I can't. I just can't."

Seeing the angst on her face, he relented. "All right . . . but what if I told you we don't have to stay here?"

"What do you mean?" Her brow furrowed. "Where would we go?"

Taking a seat next to John, Anna listened silently as he laid out an alternative course for them. She could tell he was nervous, but never did he deviate his eyes from hers.

As he finished up describing the inn, John reached over with his free hand to run a finger down the side of her face. "What do you think, love?"

She was overwhelmed. Opportunities like this came to others not them. There had to be a catch. It was too good to be true.

"John, is this really a possibility?"

"Yes, if we want it to be."

"We can afford it?"

"If we sell mother's home for around the price it was recently assessed at, we should have no problem at all. In fact, we will probably come away with something extra to put into savings. "

"And selling shouldn't be a problem?"

"Mr. Cameron assured me given the current market and the location of the house we could sell it rather quickly."

Anna rubbed her hands together nervously. Could they really do this, leave everything behind? More questions began to pop into her mind.

"What about papers? Do we need papers once we arrive there?" With those questions, an even scary prospect came to mind. "What happens if we get there and they don't let you in because you were in prison? What happens then?"

John held up his hand. "Slow down," he entreated before giving her a warm smile. "Getting in shouldn't be a problem. My record has been wiped clean and my previous prison time with the military wouldn't be accessible to American immigration officials. But I'll speak with his Lordship. He has contacts both here and over there and would make sure we don't run into any problems."

"What about Lord Grantham? Are you sure you want to leave his service after everything he's done for us? It's a good job and you're highly respected in the household."

"Anna, I want more," John empathized taking her hands in his. "I will always be appreciative of what he and his whole family have done on my behalf. But I'm willing to leave it behind and take a chance for a better life, a happier life for the three of us. That's all that matters to me."

He paused before continuing, "Anna, are you willing to take that chance too?"

She closed her eyes. Was she ready to surrender her current life for one of uncertainties in a strange, new land?

She took a deep breath. She needed to examine this from all sides. Currently, they were financially stable even managing to put funds into savings. Being a valet to an Earl _was_ a good job. Buying an inn would be an investment and investments always held an element of risk. Was it a good idea to jeopardy such stability for only a chance at a better life? What if the inn failed? Would John be able to find other work in America? He wasn't getting any younger and his injury might serve as an impediment to being hired.

And even though she didn't see them on a daily basis anymore, she would certainly miss everyone at the Abbey: Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, Daisy and Mrs. Patmore, the young maids and footmen. And leaving the Crawley family would be most difficult. While she and Mary would never be of the same rank, Anna had never been closer to another woman in all her life. Mary and Matthew were Danny's godparents. And after that fateful New Year's, Sybil and Branson would always have a place in her heart too. They were like family.

As for her real family, no one would miss her much. Her father's death was what prompted Anna to be hired on at Downton in the first place. Her mother passed away three years ago. All that was left were two older brothers and one younger. Her eldest brother ran the family farm and while the other two worked in a local cotton factory. Since her mother's death, she had only seen them a handful of times. The sad truth was even though her working at Downton had been to help the family, she found herself growing farther apart from her siblings with each passing year.

Anna opened her eyes to John gazing at her intently as he softly rubbed circles upon Danny's back. No, it didn't matter what she was leaving behind or the risk they were taking; to have a fresh start with these two at her side was all she needed. She could break free of all the gossip and innuendo that dogged her steps daily. How nice that would be . . . except what if . . .?

"John, what if we aren't accepted there? What if they find out about your past?" Dread filled her chest. What if they were treated the same way in America as they were in the village?

He must have sensed her anxiety. He opened up his free arm. "Come here," he said motioning her over. She slid over and rested her head on his chest.

"First of all," John began as he lightly kissed the top of her head. "Mrs. Appleman is the only person who needs to know about my past and it's in her best interest and that of the inn to keep it to herself. Secondly, from what I gather from Mr. Hayes, America is a place where people come from all over with various backgrounds, religions, languages, you name it. But once you get there, you start anew. The past stays where it should be . . . in the past."

"Do you think it really is that simple?"

"I don't know. But I spent the better part of my life always believing the worst about my fellow man; I've got to believe that there is goodness out there that we can tap into."

Anna couldn't help blurting out, "Well, there's not too much 'goodness' in this village."

"I am sorry living here has been so hard on you . . .," John started.

She began to shake her head and refute it, but he stopped her. "No, don't deny it, Anna. I know it's been because of me and I feel awful. I only wish that someday you will be able to talk to me about it."

He took a deep breath before continuing on. "You do know, I am always here for you?"

She did love this man. "I know. And someday I will be able to, just not now."

John nodded. He understood. There had been plenty of times when their roles had been reversed. She had always been there when he needed to someone to listen to his problems, his secrets, even his demons. And when the time came, he would be there for her.

They sat in silence as the wall clock ticked softly.

"But it will be a lot easier living here knowing we'll be leaving soon." Anna leaned back and smiled softly up at John.

John pushed himself up jostling Anna and Danny in the process. "You mean it? You're really quite sure you want to do this?

"I want more, too. I want to leave all of this baggage behind. And if we're together, we can face whatever may lie ahead."

"In some ways, that's what I like best. We'll be working side by side, each and every day." John shyly looked down at her. "I've missed you during the day these last few months. "

"Me too," Anna agreed as she gave him a cheeky smile. "I don't know, we might get sick of each other spending all that time together."

John feigned mock horror, "Never!"

They both laughed as John drew her close again for a kiss. As he turned slightly to deepen that kiss, Danny began to slide from his position on his shoulder and let out a whimper. As his parents disentangled, his tiny mouth began to suck on John's shirt hungry for a feeding.

"I'm afraid, my boy, you're not going to have any luck there."

"Oh, come here," Anna cooed lifting her son from John. She began to unbutton her nightgown to feed him.

"Bring him to bed. There's no reason to sit down here and nurse him in the dark."

So as a family they climbed upstairs and got into bed.

"I'll call Mr. Cameron tomorrow and have him put the house on the market."

"How long do you think it might take?"

"I imagine we might be able to make it to America by the end of the summer."

"Sounds fantastic."

"Doesn't it?" John agreed as he leaned over for one last kiss. "Goodnight Anna. I love you."

"I love you, too."

As Anna put Danny to her breast, she thought of their new future. No more names or harassment. They would Mr. and Mrs. John Bates, respected owners of The Willow Tree Inn. They would work together to make it a success. Her heart was restless in anticipation.

It only took a few minutes to have John asleep, softly snoring beside her. Most wives would be annoyed, but not Anna. Having been so close to losing him, his snores reaffirmed that he was alive and warm sleeping beside her.

Danny's nursing began to peter off as he also fell asleep. She gently lifted him up to snuggle against her shoulder. She would put him in his crib in a minute. For now, she just wanted to hold him close.

And just like she had done several months prior, Anna looked out the window and waited for dawn. Only this time the pink hues of early morning would not mean the death of her love, but the birth of their future. And what a lovely future it was going to be.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ So that's all folks. Hope you enjoyed it. I do have two more stories (a one-shot, and another mult-chapter) that I want to do before my creativity runs out of the Downton front. Until then, thanks again for reading!_


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